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r tf> 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 






And in a Moment All Were Dancing Around the Helpless 
Cat Stuck in the Dough, while Kettle 
Kept Up His Tappety-Tap. 


GOOD-NIGHT 

STORIES 

BY 

MRS. FRANK SIT T I G 

AUTHOR OF “JUPITER’S TRIP TO THE MOON/’ Etc. 

Stories for the Kindergarten Stories for Grown-ups Stories from Nature 



AND NOW THE DAY IS OVER , 


> ) 

) ) 0 

ILLUSTRATED BY 

W. W. LYON AND H. L. FURMAN 


PUBLISHERS 

ROBERT J. CROMBIE & COMPANY 

BROOKLYN NEW YORK 




LIBRARY of CONGRESS 


Two Copies Received 

NOY 9 \m 



Copyright, 1908, 

BY 

Robert J. Crombie & Company, 
Brooklyn-New York. 


DEDICATED TO MY SON 

JFre&ertck JMtttg; 

To him whose tender eyes have pleading 
shone, 

Whose loving lips have ever urged me on, 
Whene’er my faltering tongue delayed, 

I dedicate these brief and simple tales 
Of tiny things that haunt our hills and dales; 
Since but for him they never had been made. 


PREFACE 


I 


A WORD TO MOTHERS 

These stories were never intended for the 
public. They were bedtime stories composed 
for my little son. His nurse, without mean- 
ing any harm, had been trying to lure him to 
sleep with exciting hobgoblin tales, which had 
wrought up his sensitive nerves to such a pitch, 
that, in order to calm him, I invented these 
quieter and more natural ones. They are 
printed in the hope that, since they amused and 
helped my own little boy, so they may benefit 
other children. 

All wise mothers must realize the importance 
of the bedtime hour. The way in which a 
child goes to sleep is no trifling matter. Just 
as his reason is losing its hold on him for the 
night, the destiny of a child swings, as it were, 
in a fairy balance. 

Some children go to sleep best alone. 

9 


PREFACE 


Others of a more nervous temperament are best 
led into drowsiness by a simple, dreamy narra- 
tive. Most normal children love such stories. 
They should be told in low and soothing tones, 
and should be free from grim and harrowing 
sensations. Fanciful, but not startling, tales 
of fairies, birds, flowers, bees and loving chil- 
dren are most likely to bring sleep to the weary 
brain of a child. 

An interest in real science is often developed 
by such little dream-stories. As the young 
listener grows in years and understanding he 
may be stimulated thereby to a further pursuit 
of knowledge, which may lead to great results. 

L. S. 



10 



PAGE 


How It All Happened 17 

In the Shadow of a Fire 27 

The Little Caterpillar Who Traveled Far. ... 47 

The Dream that Came True 63 

Pansy, Toady, and the Goldfish 73 

Fun at the Bottom of the Sea 81 

Careless: Solomon 91 

The Pansy Who Learned to be Content 101 

The Castle in the Air Ill 

The Baby Pansy’s Vision 125 

The Dream of Baby Heartsease 133 

The Lily of Faith 145 


t 




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


And in a Moment All were Dancing, 

Frontispiece PAG e 

And Now the Day is Over 11 

Jessie in the Garden 18*^ 

Browser Knew the Signal 28^ 

He was Fast Asleep 32 y 

"Laws Me!” She Cried 42 

Quickly He Hurried Down the Path 59 

"One,” Cried the Oyster, "Two, Three, Go!”. . 84 

Vegetables Walking Hand in Hand 94 

"Dear Me,” Said Solomon, Scratching His 

Head 95 

Then Came Bufo Hop Hopping Up to Her Feet 140 










HOW IT ALL HAPPENED 


15 




If the world’s a vale of tears 
Smile, till rainbows span it, 

Breathe the love that life endears, 

Clear of clouds to fan it. 

Of your gladness lend a gleam 
Unto souls that shiver; 

Show them how dark sorrow’s stream 
Blends with Hope’s bright river. 

— Lucy Larcom. 


16 



Springtime had come. The sky was very 
blue. Here and there a fluffy white cloud was 
dancing over it, as though it were very happy. 
The little brooks were full of water and ran 
swiftly. Every breeze brought some new, 
sweet scent from the meadows, for crowds of 
fresh flowers were bursting into bloom there 
every morning. 

The gardener’s work was done. He had 
put in the last plants. The walks and borders 
were quite tidy. The bright sun and the warm 
rain had done the rest. The garden was a 
perfect glory. 

Jessie came down the path, smiling with joy 
to see the brave, bright flowers. She thought 
that the strong, tall rose-trees smiled back at 
17 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


her, and that the foxgloves were stretching 
their wide mouths in a hearty laugh. The blue- 
bells seemed to ring “I am glad to see you, 
Jessie !” The pinks sent up into her face rich 
breaths of sweetness, and, as for the pansies, 
one could almost hear them laugh when they 
saw Jessie coming. 

Jessie herself looked almost more like a 
flower than a girl, because she was so dainty 
and sweet, and walked so lightly and softly. 
She put her feet down so carefully for fear 
that she might crush some dear little life. She 
could not bear to think of hurting even a tiny 
ant or worm, or bruising the plainest little 
flower. 

Beside the pansy-bed, Jessie stopped short. 

“Oh, how pretty you are!” she cried. “You 
look so bright and clean! It seems as though 
you could speak to me.” 

“They can speak, too,” said a voice. 

Jessie looked up in surprise, for there wasn’t 
a soul in the garden besides herself. Still the 
voice went on, and presently Jessie saw that 
it was the very tallest red rose that was talk- 
ing. 


18 



Beside the pansy bed Jessie stopped short. “Oh, how 

PRETTY YOU ARE !” SHE CRIED. “YOU LOOK SO BRIGHT AND CLEAN! 

It seems as though you could speak to me.” 






































































































































































. 


-Ik 








































































































■ 




















































■ 
































? 

























































































■ 










GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


“Don’t you know that ‘pansy’ means 
‘thought’?” it was saying. “Of course, pan- 
sies can think — and that is why Shakespeare 
wrote, ‘Pansies, that’s for thoughts.’ ” 

“Yes,” said Jessie; “they look as if they 
could think.” 

“And there are many, many children who 
never saw the pansies growing,” went on the 
voice. “I suppose there must be millions of 
them.” 

“Oh, it can’t be so!” cried Jessie. “Doesn’t 
everybody in the world have gardens and flow- 
ers? All of my little playmates have them.” 

“You and your playmates are very fortu- 
nate little girls,” pursued the red Rose gently. 
“Most of the people in the world are too poor 
to have gardens, and there are millions of old 
and lame and sick people who could not get 
out to see them grow, even if they owned gar- 
dens. And there are many little children who 
can never leave their beds.” 

“Oh, let us make the pansies into bouquets, 
and give them to these children,” cried Jessie. 
“They will take their beautiful thoughts with 
19 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


them into dull sick-rooms. How happy they 
will make many poor little children !” 

Full of these pleasant plans, Jessie hurried 
in to ask her father if she might send some 
pansies at once to the poor and sick and blind, 
and the children who cannot leave their beds. 

As soon as she was out of hearing, the pan- 
sies began to talk among themselves. Of 
course, anything that can think can talk in its 
own language, though you or I might not be 
able to understand. And so there is a lan- 
guage of pansies. I believe that they can tell 
each other their thoughts, just as you and I 
can. 

“Why can’t we find a way to make some- 
body happy?” asked the big purple Pansy with 
the yellow spots. “Why should we wait for 
this kind little girl to pick us and tie us into 
bouquets?” 

“Yes, why should we?” cried all the Pansies, 
so loud that if you had been there I am sure 
you would have heard and understood them. 

“But we can’t walk,” said the dainty white 
Pansy, “and even if I could, I am sure I should 
soil this nice white frock of mine, and then I 
20 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


should be quite spoiled. Nobody would wish 
to look at me.” 

The more the pansies thought of it, the more 
this seemed to be true. However much they 
might want to do good, there they were, tied 
; to one spot — and how could they help any 
1 one? 

Suddenly the purple Pansy had an idea. 
The purple Pansy was very big and hardy and 
clever, and the other pansies had elected him 
their president. Whatever he suggested was 
always done. 

“ Suppose we can’t walk?” he asked. 
“Haven’t we friends who can walk and fly and 
get around in all sorts of ways? How about 
the Spider with his velvet coat, who lives up on 
the greenhouse wall? And won’t your friend, 
the Bluebird, help us? And you all know that 
good little Toad who comes around every day. 
He will do anything I ask because I let him 
eat the flies that sit on my leaves. The Spider 
can drag himself up into the air, and spin the 
most remarkable webs. The Bluebird can fly, 
and the Toad can hop. And there is our friend 
the Darning-needle, who mixes all our colors 
21 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


for us, down there under the thick white rose- 
bushes. He can get anywhere with those 
pretty rainbow wings of his — and he is swift 
as the wind.” 

“Hurrah!” cried the Pansies (in pansy lan- 
guage, of course), for they felt greatly en- 
couraged at what the purple Pansy had said, 
especially when he spoke of the Darning- 
needle. You see, the Darning-needle was one of 
the cleverest of artists. What he did not know 
about mixing colors was hardly worth know- 
ing. All of the flowers seemed to worship him, 
for he knew the secrets of all the tints of the 
bubbles and the dewdrops. You would under- 
stand, just from, looking at his gauzy, rain- 
bow wings, that he must have a great eye for 
colors and a skilful hand. 

The Pansies kept on hurrahing and even 
clapping their leaves together in their excite- 
ment, until the black Spider heard them up on 
the greenhouse wall, and came scuttling down 
to see what was the matter. In another min- 
ute, a pretty little Toad came hopping anx- 
iously down the garden path to ask what was 
up ; and the Bluebird stopped building his nest 
22 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


in the plum-tree to join the company. Purple 
Pansy proceeded to explain his idea, and you 
may be sure all the other Pansies listened 
eagerly to what he had to say. 

“It is all very easy,” he cried. “We will 
think kind and loving messages, and our good 
friends will carry them wherever we ask them.” 

“To be sure we will,” replied the velvet- 
clad Spider and the Toad and the Bluebird with 
one voice, while the Darning-needle, who had 
been poised above them in the air, and had 
heard it all, echoed with a beautiful loud hum, 
“We will!” 

This important matter once settled, they 
began to make their plans, and to ask the 
Spider and the Toad and the Bluebird and the 
Darning-needle for their advice. 

“I will spin a fresh web every day,” prom- 
ised the Spider. He was a very kind Spider, 
who kept his home very clean and never hurt 
a soul that let him alone. “Each day I will 
climb to the window of some sick child and 
will carry it a Pansy, and the Pansy can tell 
its own story.” 

“And I will hop up the stairs to some room 

23 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


where a story is wanted, and I will leave a 
Pansy every time/’ said the Toad. 

“And I will agree to drop a Pansy some- 
where every day on my trips around the neigh- 
borhood,’ ’ warbled the Bluebird. 

“And I can easily fly into any window,” 
hummed the Darning-needle. 

So from the pansy-bed there began to go 
out all sorts of lovely stories to delight chil- 
dren, especially in the twilight when they are 
growing sleepy, and some of these I am going 
to tell you. The first is about a wonderful and 
amusing cat who had a very strange name, 
and who loved to sleep in the shadows of the 
fire. 


24 


IN THE SHADOW OF THE FIRE 


\ 


25 - 


I have scores of songs that no one knows — 
Some that will make fierce tigers rub their fur 
And start to stamp a wild and frolic dance 
Among the Shadows. 

—After W. W. Story . 


26 



It was midnight. Not a sound could be 
heard throughout the house. Little folks and 
grown-ups were all in bed. Lights were out; 
everything had been tidied up for the morning. 

Outside it was bitter cold. The snow had 
been falling all day and lay in a thick blanket 
over everything. 

Only in the kitchen, bright and clean as a 
new pin, was there any sign of life. There in 
his chair before the crackling fire of big hick- 
ory logs sat old Solomon, the chore man, nod- 
ding over his pipe. He gazed at the glowing 
fire in the hearth only to doze off for a mo- 
ment; then he’d wake up to take another puff 
at his old black pipe, blowing rings of smoke 
through the room. 


27 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


Old Solomon might have been in bed long 
ago, but he was so very comfortable in the old 
chair and he liked the warmth and light of the 
tidy kitchen better than his little bed up under 
the eaves. 

Some one else was there, too, but very much 
more wide awake than Solomon. It was 
Browser, his big collie dog. Browser was 
watching the pipe very sharply, for he knew 
the minute it went out it was the signal for 
old Solomon, his master, to shake out the ashes 
and clatter upstairs to bed. Then Cyaxares, 
the big, black cat, would come into the kitchen, 
and Browser knew there would be trouble sure 
unless he got out quickly. 

For Browser was very much afraid of Cy- 
axares. 

He tried to dream like his master but he was 
so wide awake he couldn’t dream. So he lay 
there on the kitchen floor, watching old Solo- 
mon’s nodding head and his dying pipe. Once 
or twice he cast his eyes about here and there — 
through a crack in the door he spied an eye; a 
gleaming, fearful eye. And Browser knew it 
belonged to Cyaxares — his whole big body 
28 



Browser knew the signal, 
Solomon would go to bed. 


AS SOON AS THE PIPE WENT OUT 





GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


shook with fear. His tail drooped down under 
him ; he whined a little bit. 

Oh, if old Solomon would only linger on 
there by the fire ! 

Browser dearly loved the warmth and cheer 
of the glowing hearth and he knew that as long 
as old Solomon stayed there Cyaxares wouldn’t 
dare to come in, for the chore man had little use 
for the one-eyed cat. But Browser knew the 
rest — the moment that Cyaxares would come 
in, spitting and clawing, he would have to go 
or prepare for trouble. He knew he would be 
well scratched and clawed if he dared to stay. 

Now, in his day, Cyaxares had been an ex- 
ceedingly handsome cat. He had a glossy 
black coat, splashed with a little white, splen- 
didly smooth and bright. But his good looks 
were gone — once upon a time a cat that could 
fight better than Cyaxares had clawed out one 
of his eyes. 

That one eye that was left seemed as big as 
two to poor Browser. And that thick, black 
tail, which whisked about so fiercely, and those 
wicked claws hidden away in the soft, furry 
29 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


feet — oh, they were terrible! Browser knew — 
he had felt them more than once. 

The pipe went out. 

The last ashes fell upon Solomon’s hand. 
Browser knew — his master was going upstairs 
to bed and he would be left all alone in the 
kitchen, with Cyaxares just outside. Old Solo- 
mon awoke with a start from his doze. He 
looked at his pipe; it had burned out. He 
thumped it against the fire-brick, and stood 
up, yawning. The big logs on the hearth 
crackled and snapped. 

Browser knew then that his time was up — 
his master was ready for bed and he would be 
left behind to face Cyaxares. Even then he 
could see the big, one-eyed cat outside waiting 
to bound into the room and seize the best place 
by the fire, where he hadn’t been all day long 
despite the cold outside. 

There was a noise without. Browser knew 
well enough what it meant — Cyaxares was 
coming to get his late evening meal and to 
sleep there in the warmth of the kitchen till 
Cook drove him out in the morning. Cook 
didn’t like Cyaxares, and she did like Browser; 
30 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


so many a hot chop, fresh from the gridiron, 
fell to Browser, while poor Cyaxares had to 
steal a bit of fish, or take a sly lap at the morn- 
ing’s milk in order to get along. 

First, there was a rustling of dead leaves. 
Cyaxares was climbing up the vine that led 
down from the kitchen window into the back 
yard. Up, up, up he came till he reached the 
kitchen window, and then he peeped cautiously 
in. He was looking to see if Cook was there. 
But all he saw was Browser. 

“Who’s afraid!” he sneered, jumping 
through the broken mosquito-netting, left 
there since the summer time. 

His long, lithe tail stood straight up; his 
one eye gleamed like a ball of fire; his shiny 
fur bristled; and every one of his whiskers 
stood straight out. He jumped on the shelf 
where the milk-pan stood, and lightly leaped 
down to the next shelf, which was crowded 
with jars of jellies and jams in long rows. 
But Cyaxares had no time to stop there. He 
wanted to make sure that Cook had gone to 
bed. 


31 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


The coast was clear; he stepped lightly into 
the kitchen. 

Browser saw him at once. Poor Browser! 
He knew it was time to get out — this dog who 
could fight other dogs, but was mightily afraid 
of cats. So out into the kitchen hall he slunk, 
trying to find a warm bed among the wet rub- 
ber boots and dripping umbrellas till morning 
should come. 

Cyaxares shook the snow from his fur. 
Then he hurried up in front of the great fire- 
place. The big log blazed away, sending its 
flickering beams up in the rafters and in the 
corners of the kitchen. 

“Fine!” said Cyaxares to himself; “this is 
better than sleeping out in the snow. Now for 
a grand nap till morning.” 

He yawned, stretched himself, and then laid 
his long, supple body down in front of the fire. 
He winked once, and then again; he yawned 
again; soon he was fast asleep. The full light 
of the fire fell upon his handsome fur and 
chased shadows across him. Everything was 
still. Cyaxares was now the only living thing 
in the kitchen, and he was fast asleep. 

32 



He was fast asleep. The full light of the fire fell upon 

HIS HANDSOME FUR AND SHADOWS CHASED EACH OTHER ACROSS 
HIM ; EVEN THE LITTLE MICE WERE NOT AFRAID. 































































* 

, 








■ B ■ 



















GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


Soon he snored. 

That was the signal. The mice knew they 
were safe when Cyaxares snored, and they be- 
gan to peep out of their home — the hole in the 
floor behind the flour barrel. Everything 
looked quite safe, and out scampered the 
bravest one of them, light as a feather. Then 
another brave mouse followed, and another and 
another. Up the barrel they ran to the lower 
pantry shelf. Some cheese was lying there on 
a plate. What a feast they did have! 

Cyaxares still slept on. Even the mice grew 
not afraid. They ran up close to him and 
looked at the great, awful creature in delightful 
terror. Never before had any one of them been 
so close to a cat. 

And you may be sure that they wouldn’t 
have dared had not Cyaxares been so sound 
asleep and the kitchen so very, very quiet. 

You could have heard a pin drop. 

The velvet-footed little mice made very sure 
that they didn’t make any noise. Cyaxares 
was so lost in slumber that he snored steadily 
as he lay there before the fire with the light 
playing over his warm, sleek, beautiful fur. 

33 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


Not a thing was awake in all that big, quiet 
kitchen except the scurrying mice, who didn’t 
belong there, and the clock. His tick-tock 
could be plainly heard, so deep was the silence. 
But he had nothing to say except tick-tock; 
he just beamed down on everybody and every- 
thing. 

The fire was burning brighter and brighter. 
Careless Solomon had put on a big log before 
he went to bed, instead of raking down the 
embers and covering them with ashes, as he 
ought to have done. 

The glow lighted up the whole kitchen; 
things could be seen almost as plainly as if it 
were daytime. Across the floor flitted a 
shadow; then another and another, and more 
and more and more, till the room was crowded 
with them. 

They climbed up the wall and said “Good- 
evening!” to the dignified clock. Merrily they 
shot in and out among the pots and pans and 
kettles on the shelves, with a cheery greeting 
for every one. 

They played tag with each other over the 
glossy fur of Cyaxares as he slept in front of 
34 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


the fire. They bounced back from the shining 
dish-pan and the copper skillet that hung over 
the sink. They peered into the half-open cup- 
board and whisked into the flour-bin and tea- 
caddy. They were lighter than air, stiller than 
mice. 

“Sh-h-h!” whispered the first Shadow. 
“Let’s take hold of hands and have a dance.” 

“Let’s!” whispered all the other little Shad- 
ows in high glee. 

This is what they really said, only neither 
grown folks nor little children can hear them. 
Did you ever hear a shadow make a noise, no 
matter how fast you might see it flit? 

And so, out in the middle of the floor they 
gathered, all in one great ring-around-a-rosy. 
Faster and faster, but ever so softly, they 
danced in the firelight, making never a sound, 
but all the time jumping up and down and 
round and round, till it was hard to tell one 
shadow from another. They chased each other 
into the corners and were out again in a twink- 
ling; they jumped to the ceiling and back to 
the floor quicker than it takes to tell it. They 
35 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


scooted softly and silently in and out, to and 
fro, here and there — everywhere! 

It was the shadow dance— the dance of the 
shadows of the fire. And other shadows were 
beckoning to the kitchen things on the shelves 
to come down and dance too. “Tap, tap, tap.” 

I wish that you could have seen those shad- 
ows dancing in the great kitchen, as the flame 
in the fireplace went roaring up the throat of 
the wide chimney, and then died down, only to 
flash forth brightly again, as some dry part 
of the great log would catch fire. 

Sometimes the shadows were as dark as the 
velvet-brown trout, which hide in the sunny 
streams in May. Sometimes they looked like 
the strange, wild clouds which a high wind 
blows swiftly across the sky. There were tiny 
ones, too, such as a bird makes when it sails 
over a bright meadow. Then there were others, 
both large and small, which seemed scarcely 
dark at all — only delicate and dusky, as the 
firelight played over and around them and 
through them, sparkling and glimmering, as 
though it were a living spirit, full of pranks 
and fun. 


36 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


It was wonderful — that dance of the 
shadows ! 

Suddenly a strange noise was heard. It said 
“Tap! tap! tap!” 

The mice ran in horrible fright to their home 
beneath the floor. The shadows faded away — 
for they are as timid as mice. The log was 
now one broad sheet of flame, and the kitchen 
was as light as day. 

“Tap! tap! tappety tap!” — a little faster 
now. Then “tappety, tappety, tap!” It was 
the lid of the kettle dancing — “tappety, tap- 
pety, tappety, tap!” The kettle was hanging 
on the crane. It was full of water, and there 
it was, boiling furiously and playing a jig with 
its lid, faster and faster and faster. 

“Clang, clang, clang, clang!” It was the 
Clock announcing the hour of midnight. He 
smiled kindly as he surveyed the quiet kitchen 
from his perch on the wall and waited to see 
what would be done. 

And then a strange thing occurred. The 
whole kitchen awakened — all save Cyaxares. 
Gridiron came down from the hook on the wall; 
Rolling-pin came trundling off his shelf ; 
37 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


Sauce-pan, Salt-cellar, Pepper-box, Coal- 
scuttle, Whisk-broom, who had lived so long 
in the sink; Milk-bottle, big fat Boiler, Coffee- 
pot and Lemon-squeezer, all joined the com- 
pany. 

“Tappety, tappety, tappety, tap!” 

Have you ever heard the lid of a kettle jump 
that way? Have you ever heard the noise 
from its spout? 

Kettle was so hot now that he could speak 
through his spout. 

“Why don’t you dance?” he wheezed. “Can’t 
you see I’m trying to play for you?” 

“Good!” cried Gridiron. “Barred though I 
am, I’m not barred from the dance!” 

“Of course not!” said Coffee-pot; “because 
if you’re barred, I’m settled!” 

“But the cat?” put in Rolling-pin. 

“Well,” sneezed Pepper-box, “he’s always 
’round, like you! I wouldn’t mind him a bit.” 

“If I had my way,” bubbled Sauce-pan, “I’d 
drown him myself. You can tell by looking at 
him that he’s afraid of water. Nobody ever 
saw me afraid of water!” 

“Can’t you stop talking and go on with our 
38 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


dance ?” complained Coffee-mill. “This isn’t 
our daily grind.” 

“On, on with the dance,” said Gridiron, bow- 
ing very low. “Why do you pay any atten- 
tion to that old domestic tiger? He does noth- 
ing but yowl, anyway, and he is a nuisance to 
the neighborhood.” 

“I agree with you,” said the Rolling-pin; 
“but we must be careful or he will break up 
the whole affair.” 

“Tappety, tappety, tappety, tap!” rattled 
Kettle. 

“Every one dance!” cried Coal-scuttle. 

And so the quadrille started. Kettle rat- 
tled on, faster and faster still, till everybody 
lost his breath trying to keep step to his music. 

Lemon-squeezer hugged his partner, Apple- 
corer, so tight that she cried out, “I’m not a 
lemon!” 

Pepper-box was jealous. Lemon-squeezer 
got angry with him. 

“I’ll punch your head full of holes!” he cried 
suddenly. 

“You can’t,” laughed Pepper-box. “It’s 
full of holes already.” 

39 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


The dance was over. Dish-cloth and Whisk- 
broom went back to the sink. Whisk-broom 
was crying softly. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Dish-cloth kind- 

“Oh, I can’t tell you!” sobbed Whisk-broom. 

“Why not?” asked Dish-cloth. “Haven’t 
we been friends in the sink for more than a 
year?” 

“Yes,” wept Whisk-broom, “but I’m afraid 
we sha’n’t be much longer. I guess cook is 
going to throw me away. Nearly all my whisks 
are gone.” 

“If you go, I go,” said Dish-cloth stoutly. 

“Will you?” whispered Whisk-broom. 

“Yes, for I love you, and right now!” an- 
swered Dish-cloth. 

So out into the back yard they quietly went. 
There they took up their abode behind the 
rain-barrel, where they are living yet, hap- 
pier even than they were when they dwelt in 
the sink. 

But within the kitchen the fun was getting 
faster and faster. Kettle kept up his music; 
the dance was on again. Big fat Boiler took 
40 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


the center of the kitchen floor without even a 
word or a courtesy and began to dance a jig 
in a very comical manner, making all the pots 
and pans laugh so loud that they fell all over 
themselves. 

Faster and faster Kettle played; faster and 
faster danced clumsy old Boiler. Up and 
down, round and round, faster and faster, till 
the din was deafening. 

And this finally woke up Cyaxares. 

“All of you keep quiet,” he hissed. “Of all 
crazy antics — it goes ahead of anything I ever 
saw. Look here, you servants of the cook — 
can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?” 

“No,” they answered in chorus. 

“You needn’t think because you’re black that 
you can frighten us,” laughed the Frying-pan, 
who was very much interested in watching the 
movements of the Boiler. “The fact is, I am 
just as black as you are, and what I don’t 
know about night and darkness and soot would 
fill a very small book, I can tell you.” 

“You’re a sputterer, and nothing else,” said 
Cyaxares, turning toward the fire and trying 
to get a little nearer to warm himself. “I’ve 
41 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


often heard the Cook say that you were the 
greatest sputterer in the kitchen.’’ 

With that he made a leap at Frying-pan, 
but he fell short. Instead, he kicked off a big 
tin cover and landed in the pan of dough which 
Cook had set to rise for the morrow’s bread. 
And there he stuck fast! 

“Meow! meow!” cried Cyaxares, trying to 
get out of the sticky stuff. “Please help me!” 

But he had been so cross to everybody that 
nobody cared to help him out of his trouble. 

“Let’s dance around him,” said Milk-bottle. 

“Good!” cried everybody, and in a moment 
they had joined hands and were dancing 
around the helpless Cyaxares, stuck in the 
dough, while Kettle kept up his tappety-tap, 
until they all wore themselves out and were 
glad to get back for a rest on their shelves. 

And when Cook came downstairs in the 
morning it was a sad thing for Cyaxares. 

“Laws me!” she cried. “If there isn’t that 
silly cat, and he’s spoiled all my morning’s 
bread!” 

With that she picked up the pan and held 
it out of the window, upside down. Down into 
42 



“Laws me !” she cried. “If there isn't that silly cat, and 
he’s spoiled all my morning’s bread!” With that she picked 

UP THE PAN AND HELD IT OUT OF THE WINDOW, UPSIDE DOWN. 

Down into the snow fell Cyaxares, dough and all. 




GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


the snow fell Cyaxares, dough and all. He 
landed on his feet, as every cat does, but he 
was so frightened that he ran down the street, 
all sticky with dough, till he could run no 
longer. 

And he never came back to the kitchen 
again. He found a new home where he was 
treated like a prince, and had grand times. 
And there Browser is king now, and the pots 
and pans dance every night, happy as can be. 


43 













































































































































































































































































































THE LITTLE CATERPILLAR WHO 
TRAVELED FAR 


45 




’Tis better to be humble 
By far, than to be proud. 

— Marian Douglas . 


46 



THE LITTLE 
CATERPILLAR 
WHO TRAVELED 
FAR 


Little Caterpillar was very, very lonely. 

“There isn’t a bee*or a butterfly in all the 
beautiful garden that hasn’t some flower to be 
its friend. And I have none! See them all 
now, nestling right in the hearts of their 
friends, where they can get all the sweet honey 
and pretty pollen they need. And the flowers 
seemed to love these flying visitors so much 
that they opened their most delicate leaves to 
welcome them, and treasured for them their 
golden powders and all their sweetness that 
could be made into honey rich for food.” 

Poor little Caterpillar sighed again. 

She was a very gentle little Caterpillar. She 
had a soft, velvety coat, and she walked about 
very quietly without disturbing any one. But 
47 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


when she glided back and forth through the 
beautiful, sunny garden on her wonderful, 
clinging little feet, it broke her poor little 
heart to see the flowers shrink back and shake 
themselves as she passed by. And yet she 
loved them all. 

And as she crept up and down the rough 
gravel path, where every move hurt her tiny, 
delicate body, she couldn’t help looking up 
longingly into the faces of the nodding flow- 
ers to see if she might not catch just one 
friendly glance. 

“Oh, if one of them would only let me climb 
up and rest among its soft, sweet petals!” she 
thought as she traveled along her hard road. 
“It is so dangerous down here! All day long 
careless feet are passing. I never know when 
one may fall on me.” 

More than one narrow escape had little 
Caterpillar. Though she could roll herself into 
a tiny ball, she had no means of hiding, as had 
her kinsfolk, the tree caterpillar or the leaf 
caterpillar, who can make themselves look ex- 
actly like the bark or the leaves of the trees 
in which they dwell. 


48 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


She was just a poor, little, common cater- 
pillar of the yellow kind with a soft brown 
along her back and shining eyes able to glance 
many ways at once. Her two little eyes, no 
bigger than pin-heads, looked like tiny beads 
studding a bit of yellow and brown chenille 
from the fringe of the parlor curtain. 

But the more little Caterpillar craved love 
and companionship, the harder they seemed to 
find. There didn’t seem to be any soft, sweet 
place in the beautiful garden in which to rest 
her weary little body. And she tried so hard ! 

Presently she came to a great, glorious Rose 
bowing to the breeze, whose sweet breath 
seemed to welcome even little Caterpillar. 

“Perhaps she’ll let me rest within her warm 
heart for a while,” mused little Caterpillar; 
and so up the long, shiny stem she began to 
climb. 

It was a beautiful, blush tea-rose, with 
smooth stems that shone in the sun like bronze 
and red satin. Up, up, up, climbed little 
Caterpillar, her heart beating faster and faster 
with hope. For was she not like the Bees and 
Butterflies sinking into the heart of a flower? 
49 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


But suddenly she felt the Rose quiver and 
tremble. The lovely blossom had spied the 
crawling thing on her stem, and she shot a 
thorn right into the poor little body of the 
Caterpillar. 

A shower of rose-leaves fell down upon her. 
She tumbled back to earth, bruised and sore 
all over. There she lay, a tiny, trembling ball, 
too frightened even to unroll. 

She lay quietly a long time. Finally she 
stretched out again and opened her eyes. It 
was the same garden and there was the same 
sun shining just as brightly as ever. The flow- 
ers were saying “Good-morning” to the 
breezes as they blew by; the Bees were hum- 
ming; the Butterflies were flitting from flower 
to flower. 

“Perhaps some one else will be my friend,” 
said little Caterpillar to herself. “Anyway, 
I’ll try to find somebody; but I won’t go to 
any one so proud and grand as the Rose.” 

This time she went very gently along the bor- 
der until she came to where the modest Lady- 
slippers grow. They stood there straight and 
prim in their beds, pointing the toes of their 
50 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


slippers as if in a dancing class. Some were 
pale blue and pink, lavender and cerise, helio- 
trope and buff, and pure white, so that the 
twinkling feet seemed the gayest, merriest 
things the Caterpillar had ever seen in the 
whole garden. Here, too, the Bees and But- 
terflies came to play, but Caterpillar deter- 
mined not to mind them now; she, too, would 
join the dancing company, for, although she 
could not dance nor fly, she would cling with 
her strong little hind feet and swing and sway 
fearlessly. 

Up she went on the furry, stocky stem, the 
Lady slipper helping her along, and no frown 
or shudder stayed her steps. She looked with 
eager eyes into the face of the Ladyslipper 
before the flower knew she was there. But 
oh, dear! what a scream was set up then! You 
might have thought that a foolish girl had seen 
a mouse. The same trembling and quivering 
was repeated by the Ladyslipper, and just as 
a girl would say “Oh, get off me, you horrid 
thing!” so the pretty flower in her own lan- 
guage spoke to the poor Caterpillar ; and being 
51 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


again roughly shaken off, the yellow ball fell 
to the ground discarded, forsaken. 

Little Caterpillar’s faith in the flowers 
seemed gone forever, then, and it was a long 
time before she gathered heart enough to un- 
roll again. As she lay there she tried hard to 
think why the flowers hated her. 

“Can it be,” she wondered, “because they 
think I am like my relatives, who eat the leaves 
and plants and flowers? Why, I couldn’t do 
such a thing. I only eat the leaves from the 
ugly weeds that choke up the garden. Per- 
haps I am so disliked because of the example 
for destructiveness that those horrid relatives 
of mine have been setting. And, oh! if it 
could only be true that they don’t dislike me 
for anything I have done myself!” 

This gave little Caterpillar heart again. 
And so she started off to try to show the flow- 
ers that she would not hurt any one, nor eat 
a single thing in the garden. 

Across her path in the long, cool grass was 
a bed of fair, beautiful white Day Lilies. They 
were so tall and so fragrant that she longed in 
her poor little heart to be taken up by one and 
52 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


petted, just as a tired little child likes to be 
taken up by its pretty mother and lulled to 
sleep in her soft, warm arms. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, she made her way to 
the tall stalk of a Lily and started to climb up. 
On, on, she went, hoping against hope that 
she had found the right place at last. 

How cool and green was the smooth, thick 
stem! How sweet and restful was the perfume 
from the great white bell that was shaking its 
golden clappers above her! The Lily seemed 
to be really welcoming her ! Little Caterpillar 
was very happy. 

She was almost at the end of her journey. 
She crept out on one transparent petal and 
looked with a smile right into the Lily’s fair 
face. There was not a frown nor a tremble. 
Little Caterpillar had found rest and peace at 
last. 

“Oh! there is a horrid Caterpillar crawling 
right into the heart of this lovely Lily. I saw 
it just in time!” 

At the same instant that little Caterpillar 
heard the voice, she felt a hand pluck her off 
the petal and cast her down to the ground. 

53 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


Her dream of happiness was over. 

She quite lost her senses in her fall, and lay 
there very still for a long time, a wretched, 
wounded little ball of yellow fuzz. She was 
waked up by a voice saying: 

“You poor little thing! Are you hurt? Why 
don’t you come up here in the sunshine with 
me? I am sure you love the sunshine, because 
you are as yellow as I am.” 

Little Caterpillar looked up. A great, gold- 
en Sunflower was bending over her, its warm, 
brown heart opening out to the helpless, ter- 
rified little thing. 

“I’ll try, thank you,” said little Caterpillar 
gladly. 

She was dreadfully bruised, but slowly, ever 
so slowly, she managed to climb up the big 
stalk till she reached the great, smiling face 
that was reaching over to welcome her. 

“You poor little thing!” whispered the Sun- 
flower. “Come right into my heart and rest.” 

So he gathered the miserable, friendless 
little Caterpillar to his warm heart, and kept 
her safe until she was quite rested and happy 
again. 


54 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


One friend that is true can change all the 
world. 

There was much to see and to do in the heart 
of the Sunflower. He showed her his sis- 
ters and brothers standing in a row along the 
fence, all with their faces turned toward the 
sun, drinking in his golden rays, that made 
their hearts so big and warm. 

He pointed out to the little Caterpillar the 
forest of Hollyhocks, and showed her the 
grape-arbor, which is the Caterpillar’s heaven. 

“Grape-vines,” said the Sunflower, “are the 
best friends the Caterpillar has. They grow 
wide, thick leaves of no earthly use to them 
after the grapes have ripened, and they would 
just as soon as not give them to the Caterpil- 
lars. Really, they rather like the Caterpillars 
to come, because an arbor full of them keeps 
pilfering boys and girls from taking the fruit 
before it is ripe. Even the boys would rather 
climb an apple-tree than a grape-arbor full of 
wriggling, crawling caterpillars.” 

But suddenly Sunflower’s talk was cut 
short. There was a great stir down in the gar- 
den. The excitement seemed to spread. The 
55 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


Bees carried the gossip from flower to flower, 
and soon everybody in the garden knew — there 
was to be a wedding ! 

Daisy was to be married to the brown and 
yellow Spider! 

He had won her by weaving the most beau- 
tiful bridal veil the flowers had ever seen. He 
had stolen up very early in the cool of the 
morning before Daisy was awake. He had 
woven the veil about her so that when the sun 
rose and the flowers awoke, there was Daisy 
in her shimmering veil, her bright, starry eyes 
looking out shyly like a bride’s from under her 
gossamer. 

So the Bluebells and Lilies rang the chimes 
with their tiny clappers, and the Bees began 
practicing how to hum the Wedding March, 
and the Butterflies were very busy carrying 
around the invitations to all the garden to come 
to the morning bridal. 

Ah, but something terrible happened just 
then. In the midst of the rejoicing, soaring 
above the excited flowers, came a great Bum- 
blebee, important, solemn, pompous. 

“I am going to visit the bride,” he droned. 

56 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


“Wait till after the wedding,” pleaded Jack- 
in-the-pulpit, who was to tie the knot. 

“We are all ready!” cried the Lilies of the 
Valley, who were to be bridesmaids. 

“You must not interfere!” ordered Pansy, 
the maid-of -honor. “I am in charge of the 
bride.” 

“I know my own business,” retorted the 
Bumblebee with a very majestic air, as if he 
owned the whole garden. 

So he made straight for the lovely bride, and 
started to raise her veil in order to salute her 
properly, when his great clumsy feet and wings 
got tangled in the delicate web. He was caught 
fast. Such a buzzing, such a flapping, such 
tearing about! Bumblebee got away, but the 
lovely bride’s veil was torn to tatters. 

And there it was, almost time for the wed- 
ding! 

“I can’t be married without a veil!” sobbed 
Daisy. 

“I’ll give you one of my six legs for a veil!” 
cried the Spider in desperation. “I can’t pos- 
sibly spin another in time, no matter how hard 
I work!” 


57 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


Indeed, it looked as though there was to be 
a sad ending to all the happy plans that had 
been made. 

But the Sunflower heard, and he saw that 
there was Caterpillar’s chance. 

“Quick!” he whispered to little Caterpillar. 
“I can’t walk, but you can. Here’s your chance 
to make friends with everybody in the garden. 
Crawl as fast as you can across the grape- 
arbor and down the path into the barn. There 
you will find dozens and dozens of beautiful 
veils. Pick out the finest one of them all; it 
shall be your gift to the bride. Then she and 
the bridegroom and all the guests will think 
you are an angel.” 

Off sped little Caterpillar as fast as her tiny 
feet could carry her — over the arbor and across 
the path into the barn. Hundreds of webs 
hung there. In most of them, though, were 
dead flies, and in others lay spiders asleep or 
sunning themselves in the rays that shone 
through the open barn door. 

There didn’t seem to be a new, fresh veil 
anywhere. Little Caterpillar was about to re- 
turn in despair, empty-handed, when right in 
58 




















































*?rS9 
























































In an instant she had cut the threads and had folded 

THE SHINING WEB ON HER BACK. CAREFULLY AND QUICKLY SHE 
HURRIED DOWN THE PATH. THERE WASN T EVEN TIME TO STOP AND 
SHOW THE PRIZE TO THE SUNFLOWER. It WAS EVEN THEN THE 
HOUR FOR THE WEDDING. 



GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


the door she spied a brand-new web, woven 
with the purest, strongest, most silvery threads 
you ever saw. It was wonderfully spun and 
perfectly made — the fairest veil in the world 
for any bride. 

In an instant she had cut the threads and 
had folded the shining web on her back. Care- 
fully and quickly she hurried down the path. 
There wasn’t time to stop and show the 
prize to Sunflower. It was even then the hour 
for the wedding. The Bluebells were fairly 
tired out with ringing their clappers for the 
wedding chimes, and the Bees were all tuned 
up and ready to begin. Still, the bride was 
weeping — always weeping. In vain the bride- 
groom was pleading with her to stop. 

“I can’t be married without a veil,” sobbed 
the Daisy. “Oh, why did Bumblebee break 
my beautiful one?” 

And then, to the amazement of the whole 
wedding company, there came little Caterpillar 
bearing a wonderful thing — another bridal 
veil j even more beautiful than the one which 
Bumblebee had spoiled. 

She laid it at Daisy’s feet. How the flowers 

* 59 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


clapped their hands and how the Bees did buzz ! 
Joy shone on every face. 

“Stay and be my guest,” begged Daisy; and 
everybody else shouted, “Do!” 

So she stayed. 

Oh, indeed it was a merry time, and such a 
feast as was served after Jack-in-the-pulpit 
had said, “I pronounce you man and wife!” 

Little Caterpillar was immensely pleased 
that the flowers were her friends now. They 
all begged her to stay and share the garden 
with them. 

“Thank you very much,” she said sweetly. 
“I will come often and see you, and I am 
happy to think that you want me, but I am 
going back to my home in the heart of the Sun- 
flower. 

“Good-by, all!” 

And so she went back to the Sunflower, but 
she often visited the flowers and had happy 
times with them, and every day she journeyed 
over to the wonderful grape-arbor, where she 
had been welcomed from the very first. And 
there little children may see her any day when 
the sun is shining. 


60 



THE DREAM THAT CAME TRUE 


61 


Sweet little violets, hid from the cold, 
Put on your mantles of purple and gold. 

— Emily Huntington Miller. 


62 





\THE DREAM THAT 
CAME TRUE 


Spider came bustling in. He was in such a 
hurry ! 

“Here, Pansy,” he fairly shouted, “come 
right away with me. There’s a little sick girl 
I know, and she needs you.” 

“But I’m not dressed yet,” cried Pansy. 
“You’ll have to wait.” 

“All right,” said Spider, but, like everybody 
else in the world, he hated to be kept waiting. 

Pansy knew that, too. It made her fidgety 
as well, because she felt very proud to be chosen 
to go to the little sick girl with her message. 
So she tried her best to get ready as fast as 
she could. 

Now, as you must know, if you have looked 
at the flowers, the dressing-room of the 
63 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


Pansies is a very wonderful place, or else how 
could the Pansies have so many wonderful 
gowns? 

A Fairy is the keeper of all the clothes of 
the Pansies. She knows best of all just what 
each Pansy should wear, just as Nurse or 
Mother knows what is best for little children. 
You see, even the flowers do not always know 
what they should put on. 

If you will look in the garden, you will see 
that Pansies before they are dressed are funny- 
looking little things. They look for all the 
world like flies with their wings folded tight, 
and with only one foot on the ground. Then 
they go to the Fairy, and she brings out all 
kinds of velvet dresses for them to try on. 

They are all made of the same material, but 
some are bright and some are dark. Have you 
ever noticed how many different pansy dresses 
there are in the garden? 

“Hurry up!” cried Spider. “I can’t wait 
all day.” 

Poor Pansy! 

It seemed as if the Wise Fairy never could 
find the right dress. 


64 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


First she brought out a lovely, long silk 
stocking, to put on the foot that Pansy stood 
upon, and then, at last, she found a pale-blue 
velvet robe, which she threw over Pansy’s 
head. 

“Now you are all right,” whispered the 
Fairy, with a kiss, as she fastened the odd 
pointed girdle that held the dress in place. 
“Hurry along with Spider; you mustn’t keep 
him waiting any longer.” 

But Pansy was a bit vain. She thought that 
she would like to have her colors a lit- 
tle brighter; so when Fairy’s back was 
turned, she ran to the dressing-table. There 
were plenty of fancy colors there, but she was 
in such a hurry that she forgot what she was 
doing. She just daubed on the yellow, that 
should only have been on her locks, around her 
little white face, till it ran down all over the 
lovely blue gown. 

“I hope the Fairy won’t see me,” shetsaid to 
herself, as she ran off to Spider. 

“I hope you are quite dressed,” he remarked 
when she appeared. “I’m glad I’m not a 
Pansy.” 


65 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


Then he put her on his back and began to 
climb up his wonderful silk rope-ladder. 

Just in front of an open window he stopped, 
and began to spin his way into a room where a 
little sick girl lay in bed. Right across the 
top of her bed spun the Spider, and dropped 
the yellow Pansy on the pillow where the Child 
was sleeping. 

“Tell her a story and make her happy,” he 
said to Pansy, “and I’ll ask those Morning- 
glories out there to look in at her when she 
wakes,” and he spun himself back to the win- 
dow. 

Pansy lay there, close to the little girl’s face, 
breathing all the sweetness she had out to her. 
The Child’s mother came into the room and 
stood looking at her poor sick little one. She 
opened her eyes, saw the Pansy and smiled. 

“Oh, thank you, mamma,” she said. “How 
kind you are to bring me this!” 

“I did not bring it, little daughter,” the 
mother answered ; but she could not tell where 
the flower came from. 

The Child smelled it and looked at it. Then 
66 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


she said she would go to sleep again and per- 
haps there would be more Pansies when she 
awoke. So the mother smoothed the hot pil- 
low and lowered the curtains and went softly 
into the next room to let the Child sleep quietly. 

And as she slept, Pansy told her a story. 

She told how the flowers were blooming out 
of doors, and how blue the sky was and how 
warm the sun shone. She told of the Morning- 
glories that were coming to visit her, and she 
told of a dear little white kitten that would 
come to stay with her. 

Then Pansy told the Child that she must not 
be sick any more. She must not be idle and 
lie in bed, but get up and try to do things to 
make her mamma and other people glad. She 
could get up, Pansy told her, if she would try 
to, and she could surprise her mother by get- 
ting well fast. 

As the Child dreamed on, the Spider came 
back along his silken threads, and, taking up 
the Pansy, carried her away with him to pay 
other visits to other children. 

Presently the Child awoke. She felt ever so 
67 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


much better, and when her mother came in, 
there was a real color in her pale cheeks. 

“My darling, you are better, aren’t you?” 
asked her mother happily. 

“Oh, yes, mamma,” cried the Child. “I’ve 
had such a lovely dream.” 

“Have you, dear?” said the mother. “And 
see what beautiful Morning-glories are looking 
in at you to wish you good-day.” 

“Why, I dreamed of them, mamma — of 
Morning-glories and a kitten.” 

“And here is a kitten now,” exclaimed her 
mother; “a white kitten,” and the mother 
picked up a little kitten that was creeping in 
from the balcony of the window. 

“Oh, give it to me, mamma,” begged the 
Child ; and when her mother put the kitten into 
her arms she sat up to hold it and stroke it. 
“I am sure you are hungry, you dear little 
thing,” she said to kitty. 

“Perhaps you are hungry, too, my dear,” 
said her mother. 

“Yes. I should like a glass of milk,” said 
the Child, “and then I can give some to kitty.” 

Her mother went and got the milk and the 
68 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


Child lay and thought how wonderfully her 
dream was coming true. Perhaps it was true 
that she would not be sick any more. Suppose 
she was not sick now? Suppose she should get 
up and walk over to the Morning-glories ? She 
began to try to get out of bed, but she was 
afraid ; it was so long since she had stood upon 
her feet. Yet Pansy’s words were very plain: 
“You can do it if you will.” 

Then she would ! 

She slid down to the floor and stood, fright- 
ened, leaning against the bed. The kitten 
looked up and purred louder than ever, then 
jumped to the floor and rubbed against the 
Child’s feet, and seemed to guide her to the 
window. 

The little girl stood out away from the bed. 
She took one or two steps, touching the chairs 
and table as she passed; then, as she heard her 
mother coming, she turned and ran across the 
room into her arms. 

There was happiness then, you may be sure. 

The wonder of the Child’s getting well so 
quickly was talked of everywhere by all the 
69 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


family. The little girl looked for the Pansy, 
to kiss her and thank her, but Pansy was not 
to be found, and the Child could only keep 
a grateful heart for the dream that came true. 


70 



PANSY, TOADY, AND THE GOLD- 
FISH 


71 


And he wandered away and away, 
With Nature, the dear old nurse, 
Who sang to him night and day, 

The rhymes of the universe. 

— Longfellow . 


72 


PANSY, TOADY, 
AND THE GOLD- 
FISH 


“Come on, Pansy, dear,” said Bufo, the 
Toad, one bright morning, speaking to the 
prettiest white and purple flower in all the 
garden. 

Pansy nodded brightly, for she knew she was 
going on some errand of cheer. So she climbed 
carefully upon the Toad’s back, and off they 
started. 

Soon they came to a stream that dashed and 
purled over the pebbles. 

“We must cross here,” said Bufo, “because 
the place we seek is on the other side. Hold 
on tight.” 

Into the bubbling water hopped Bufo and 
began to swim. He panted along till he came 
to a little island, where he stopped to catch his 
73 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


breath. To his surprise, he found that Pansy 
was gone. Where could he find her? She 
must be in the water, he thought. So he start- 
ed back. 

Pansy had slipped from Bufo’s back. She 
was terribly frightened at first, but took cour- 
age when she thought of what the wise Fairy, 
keeper of the wardrobe of the flowers, had said 
to her. 

“A Pansy’s dress must be chosen like any 
little girl’s,” she had told her, so Pansy now 
remembered. “It must show what she is. If 
she is kind, her dress will tell it. If she is 
thoughtful — and all Pansies must be thought- 
ful, because Pansies are for thought — her dress 
must signify that, too. And if she is selfish, 
she won’t be a real Pansy — nothing but a pert 
J ohnny- j ump-up. ” 

So Pansy tried to be very brave. 

“I must do all I can,” she thought, “to help 
myself and to help others.” And as she thought 
this way, she found herself easily floating on 
the top of the water. 

“Why, this isn’t anything to be afraid of,” 
she said. 


74 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


Presently she spied something very bright 
and shiny coming toward her. 

It was a beautiful little Goldfish. He was 
surprised to see her in the water, where only 
fishes dwell. 

“This is a strange place for you, pretty 
flower,” he said gently, not to frighten her. 

“Yes,” said Pansy; “I’m lost, you see. I 
slipped off the back of Bufo, the Toad, who 
was carrying me on an errand.” 

“Where was he taking you?” asked Gold- 
fish. 

“I don’t know,” sobbed Pansy. “He didn’t 
tell me.” 

“Then I don’t see how I can help you,” said 
Goldfish kindly; “but anyway I can take you 
ashore, where you will be safe.” 

“Oh, thank you so much!” cried Pansy, as 
she let him float her to the river bank. 

There she saw ever so many Goldfish dart- 
ing about among the stones like little streaks 
of lightning. 

“This is my school,” said the Goldfish. “I 
would like to introduce some of my schoolmates 
to you if you would care.” 

75 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


Pansy was delighted to make so many new 
friends. So Goldfish laid her on the bank and 
then he darted away to bring his school to- 
gether. Some he introduced to her. 

“What sort of studies do you have in your 
school ?” asked Pansy of Goldfish. 

“I’ll put them through some of their exer- 
cises, and you can see,” he answered. 

Out into the stream he darted, taking the 
lead of them all. Then, round and round the 
school followed him, darting under stones, 
leaping over rocks, diving to the bottom, snap- 
ping at bugs and flies, whisking, dancing and 
playing hide-and-seek. 

“How beautiful!” cried Pansy. “I wish I 
were a fish! You look as if the stars had come 
down to play in the water.” 

And as she lay there so quietly she suddenly 
heard something puffing and grunting beside 
her. It was Bufo, the Toad, almost tired out. 
Pansy let herself think for a moment what an 
ugly thing he was beside these pretty fishes. 

“Oh, I’m so glad to find you!” he puffed. “I 
was afraid you had been drowned. I haven’t 
76 


GOOD-NIGIIT STORIES 


rested a minute since I knew you were lost. 
Please forgive me.” 

And then Pansy was ashamed of herself 
for thinking him ugly. She knew well that 
under his homely skin beat a heart as warm as 
any in the world. 

Goldfish came swimming up. 

“How do you like our school?” he asked 
quite proudly. 

“It was fine,” answered Pansy. “Thank you 
so much for showing me all the wonderful 
things you can do. But I can’t stay any 
longer. Here is my friend, Bufo, the Toad. 
Won’t you shake hands?” 

So they shook hands as well as they could, 
Goldfish with his fin, and Bufo with his claw. 

“Come and see us again,” called out Gold- 
fish as Pansy started off on .Bufo’s back. 
“Perhaps I can help you carry a message of 
cheer some time.” 

And as they started off, Bufo told Pansy of 
the wonderful adventures he had had while 
looking for her. 

“You see,” began Bufo, “I hurried along the 
brook so fast that I didn’t know how far I 
77 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


was going, and all of a sudden I found I was 
getting into the sea. Oh, how deep it was. I 
began to sink and sink, until before long there 
I was, quite down at the bottom of the sea.” 

Then the Toad told Pansy this remarkable 
story of “Fun at the Bottom of the Sea.” 


78 



FUN AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA 


79 


Oh, how I enjoy the romantic 
Atlantic, 

When Luna uplifts her bright torches 
And searches 

For each fleecy truant that ambles 
And rambles, 

Or chases her flock o’er the meadow 
In shadow. 

Oh, then is the foam phosphorescent, 
Incessant, 

We catch in each ripple that dashes, 
Bright flashes, 

In all of the seas creamy wrinkles, 

The twinkles. 

What fairy that evening can measure 
The pleasure ! 

— W . A . Crojfut . 


80 



Far down in the depths of a beautiful little 
rocky cove that ran in from the deep green sea, 
dwelt a strange little company. 

Folks on earth call them fish; but they had 
different names for each other. There they 
lived, just as we live here on the land, eating 
and sleeping and playing, and enjoying to the 
utmost the freedom of the cool, green, still 
water beneath the rippling waves. Sometimes 
they tired of this quiet life. Then they would 
leap to the surface to glance out over the spark- 
ling water, occasionally catching a glimpse of 
what was doing on shore. 

Indeed, it was a jolly life they led! 

There was the Sea-robin, almost as much 
a bird as a fish can be ; then there was the Fly- 
81 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


ing-fish, her rival; and the Flounder and the 
Lobster and the Silverfish and the Goldfish and 
many others. 

Did you ever see a Sea-robin? 

He has wings just like a bird’s and he fairly 
flies through the water, for he swims just as a 
bird flies. And though a Sea-robin, which 
would seem to mean a sort of bird-fish, he is as 
different from the regular Flying-fish as day 
is from night. 

This Flying-fish who belonged to the little 
company in the cove was unusually pretty; in 
fact, she was quite the belle of them all. She 
had two beautiful silvery wings, light as gossa- 
mer, and a long, slender body, and when she 
got tired of the deep sea and wanted to see the 
sky or the shore she would jump up out of the 
water and skim, skim along over the tops of 
the waves, as merrily as you please. 

Of course, all the fish in the cove envied her, 
because none of them, not even the Sea-robin, 
could fly at all in the air, no matter how well 
they could swim. 

Flounder had a great, queer, flat body, dark 
green on top and pure white beneath. He 

82 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


seemed all lopsided to the rest of the fish in 
the cove, with one eye in the white side and one 
in the green, but he thought himself just right, 
and all the rest of his friends just wrong. In 
fact, Flounder was the proudest creature in 
all the cove. For all this, he sometimes gave 
the others a ride on his back, just to show off 
how well he could swim. Little Flying-fish 
was his most frequent guest, because in his vain 
way he thought it looked well to have the others 
see him carrying about the prettiest fish in the 
cove. 

Then there was the Old Lobster, the best 
fighter of them all, a not-afraid-of-any thing. 

He was ugly as a bull-dog, and just as fond 
of fight. He was a great green thing, with 
heavy, long claws that could pinch and bite 
anything that offended him. Many a time had 
those big claws been useful in driving bigger 
fish out of the cove that would have gladly 
gobbled up some of his finny friends. 

Now, there were many other fish in the cove, 
but these that you have read about here were 
all friends. They had great times together. 
Sometimes it was a picnic in the seaweed; 

83 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


sometimes an excursion out to sea, where the 
whales and the porpoises and the great cod 
and halibut gamboled in the waves. 

When they went swimming away in a long 
line, led by Flying-fish, you would have 
thought that a rainbow had been let down into 
the water and was floating off through the 
waves. 

“Let’s have a race!” cried Flounder one 
bright summer’s morning, when the sunshine 
was dancing on the sparkling green waves, till 
they looked as if they had been set with dia- 
monds. 

“Fine!” cried Goldfish and Silverfish in 
chorus. 

The big Oyster who dwelt on the side of the 
cove agreed to be the starter, because he 
couldn’t race any, being unable to move. When 
all were in line he asked if they were ready. 

“Yes!” cried the fish together. 

“One,” cried the Oyster, “two, three — go!” 

And off they went at a great rate, Silverfish 
and Goldfish together in the lead. Fast, faster 
they flew, until they were nearing the open sea. 
And then Sea-robin spoiled it all. 

84 





'f 

,, Jsl 1»6 


W0f#^ 




mmm* 


— — — 


“One/' cried the Oyster, “two, three — go!” And off they 

WENT AT A GREAT RATE, SlLVERFISH AND GOLDFISH TOGETHER IN 
THE LEAD. FAST, FASTER THEY FLEW, UNTIL THEY WERE NEARING 


THE OPEN SEA 









GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


If you want to know the real truth, Sea- 
robin was head over heels in love with Flying- 
fish. He thought that she looked particularly 
well that day, as she swam so gracefully along, 
her wings ready to take her for a flight up over 
the waves, where none of her friends could fol- 
low. 

Sea-robin was a dull fellow, however, and 
he didn’t realize that Flying-fish was giving 
sly little glances at Flounder. She considered 
him very brave and splendid, and he was so 
proud of her attention that when she began 
to fall behind in the race he gave her a ride on 
his own back and kept up with the rest. 

Sea-robin could not see that he was not 
wanted, so he swam alongside. 

“I am going to kill Lobster because he is 
making eyes at you, Flying-fish,” he said sul- 
lenly, 

“Are you, indeed!” sneered Flounder. “And 
by what right, if you please? Do you think 
yourself a hero ? A fine figure you’d make kill- 
ing a Lobster. One pinch and you’d be off as 
fast as your fins could carry you. Miss Flying- 
85 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


fish likes me best of all, and you better not 
bother trying to kill any one for her sake.” 

Here was a pretty kettle of fish, as people on 
land say. 

There is no telling how far matters might 
have gone, if a great black shadow had not 
suddenly appeared overhead. It was made by 
something that none of our friends, the fish of 
the cove, had ever seen before. 

“What’s that?” crid Silverfish in terror. 

“Oh, nothing but the shadow of a cloud,” 
answered Flounder. “Who’s afraid?” 

“Just look at that fine, big worm that has 
dropped from the cloud on a string!” cried 
Goldfish. “I saw it first; it’s mine.” 

“Stand back! I am the only one that isn’t 
afraid of the shadow,” said Flounder, shoulder- 
ing them away. 

Sea-robin, meanwhile, had been so fright- 
ened that he had darted far down deep to the 
bottom, led by Silverfish, whose bright body 
made a streak of light for him to follow. All 
at once this turncoat gallant had changed his 
love from Flying-fish to Silverfish. 

“You are ever so much prettier than Flying- 
86 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


fish,” he whispered to Silverfish as they sped 
along the shady bottom of the cove, far away 
from the shadow above (which was a fishing- 
boat, though they didn’t know it) . 

Meanwhile two or three of the fish, quicker 
than Flounder, made a dart for the worm, only 
to feel a sharp pain in their mouths. They 
sank to the bottom to bind up their wounds, 
while Flounder approached the worm in a supe- 
rior, proud way that was meant to show his 
great boldness and that no worm could possibly 
hurt him. 

He took one big bite. Something sharp 
went right through his horny jaws, and he 
found himself being drawn to the surface of 
the water. 

“Help! Save me!” he cried to his friends 
down below. 

But they could do nothing. His pride for 
once was humbled. He knew that there was no 
one to save him now unless he could do it him- 
self. He was soon at the surface, and as he 
looked up there were two men preparing to 
pull him into their boat. 

87 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


“What a big one!” cried the man who was 
hauling him on the line; “he’ll be fine for ” 

Just then Flounder gave one last despairing 
flop and shook himself free from the barbed 
hook. A moment later he was down at the bot- 
tom of the cove, describing his narrow escape 
to his friends, who had given him up as lost. 

“I’ll never be proud or stuck-up again,” he 
declared. 

Meanwhile, little Goldfish, the peacemaker, 
was flying around restoring friendship. She 
shed such a golden light about her that no one 
could long feel in ill-humor. Even sullen Sea- 
robin forgot his troubles and decided that even 
if neither Silverfish nor Flying-fish would have 
him, there were plenty of other good fish in the 
sea. He shook hands with Lobster and 
Flounder and gave them each a periwinkle he 
had found, as a token of good-will. 

And so happiness was restored to all those 
friends who dwelt in the cove, and there they 
are living to this day, having the j oiliest sort 
of times, at the bottom of the sea. 


88 



CARELESS SOLOMON 


89 




We nowhere art do so triumphant see 
As when it buds or grafts the tree. 

It does, like grace, the fallen tree restore 
To its blest state of Paradise before. 

Who would not joy to see his conquering hand 
O’er all the vegetable world command? 

He bids the ill-natured crab produce 
The gentle apple’s winey juice; 

He does the savage hawthorn teach 
To bear the medlar and the pear; 

He bids the rustic plum to rear 
A noble trunk, and be a peach. 

« — Abraham Cowley . 


90 


F ' CARELESS SOLOMON 

( The Vegetable Story) 

Jessie’s home was just outside of a pretty 
village, and all around it was a beautiful gar- 
den. Ever since Jessie could remember, this 
garden had been under the care of Solomon. 
Solomon was so good and kind that the family 
loved him, but he was always making blunders. 

“I do hope that Solomon will set the garden 
out right this spring,” said Jessie’s father and 
mother. “We want to have heaps and heaps 
of flowers, and plenty of good things to eat, 
too — sweet corn and peas and red and yellow 
tomatoes and green, cool-looking cucumbers, 
and great golden pumpkins for Thanksgiving 
91 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


time. But there is no knowing what Solomon 
will do, he is so queer!” 

Yes, Solomon was very queer. The family 
had called him “Careless Solomon,” because 
he could never be depended upon to do things 
twice alike. But everybody liked him because 
he was funny and good-natured, and nobody 
had time to look after him, so that he did just 
about as he pleased. The family only hoped 
that things would come out right somehow — 
and they generally did. 

You would think that anybody named 
Solomon would be very wise, because King 
Solomon in the Bible was the wisest man that 
ever lived. But this Solomon was not very 
wise, as you shall see. 

At last the beds were all spaded and 
the seeds were in the earth, and in the 
eventide when Jessie’s father and mother 
walked in the garden they saw that the 
beds were all nicely laid out, and they 
hoped that Solomon had done his work 
properly this time. 

Springtime grew warmer and warmer, and 

92 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


the little green leaves, no bigger than your 
thumb-nail, from the seeds that Solomon had 
planted, began to push their way upward 
through the warm earth. 

At first it was hard to tell one leaf from 
another; everything looked alike. But as 
springtime changed to summer and the great 
golden sun made them all grow very, very fast, 
it was plain to see that Careless Solomon had 
made another of his mistakes. He had actu- 
ally jumbled the seeds all together, so that in 
the very same patch were growing corn and 
roses and water-melons, peas and geraniums, 
sweet-williams and pumpkins, cucumbers and 
salvias, ladyslippers and potatoes. It was a 
sad mess, and, as you can see, was bound to 
lead to quarrels. 

“How do you dare to crowd me so!” cried 
the Rose to the Squash-vine. “And here is a 
common Cabbage pushing me so that I can 
scarcely breathe. The vulgar things! What 
are they doing in our flower-bed, anyway? 
They will certainly soil my skirts before the 
summer is ended.” 


93 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


“I agree with you,” whispered the Lily. “I 
shall be smothered here if something is not 
done at once to get these horrid vegetable roots 
out of my way.” 

“We are just as badly off,” wept the green 
Geraniums. “Our tender new leaves are com- 
pletely hidden by these big, ugly Pumpkin- 
vines. What shall we do?” 

As for the Sweet-williams and the Mignon- 
ette, it was plain to see that the Cucumbers 
were fairly choking out their lives, and they 
joined loudly in the outcry. The vegetables 
finally rebelled, and consulted among them- 
selves, and at last the Potato spoke for them, 
and very plainly too. 

“We don’t like to be here among you flow- 
ers any better than you like to have us,” he said 
with dignity. “We were put here through one 
of Careless Solomon’s usual blunders. We 
would rather be out behind the barn, where our 
parents and grandparents have lived for many 
years. But all the same, we do not like the 
way you talk about us. We may be, on the 
whole, rather coarse and ugly, but many of us 
94 



“No, I THANK YOU,” RETORTED THE CORN COLDLY. “I BELONG WITH THE 
VEGETABLES. THEY ARE MY FRIENDS, AND WHERE THEY GO, I GO. We HAVE 
DECIDED THAT WE WILL ALL LEAVE, SINCE WE ARE’ NOT WANTED HERE.” 


r 



























; 






































































































GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


have beautiful flowers, and we are very useful. 
You may be delicate and pretty, but you are 
of no use in the world. If it wasn’t for us peo- 
ple would starve.” 

“Well,” said the Rose, keeping her temper, 
though she was much wrought up, “we are 
quite pretty enough to make up for any lack, 
and, as you say, you are all very coarse and 
ugly. The master said this place was for us 
by the brook, where they only want pretty 
things. You belong out back of the barn, and 
why don’t you go there?” 

The flowers held up their heads very haugh- 
tily when they heard the speech of the Rose, 
and applauded. But the Corn was very 
angry. 

“And so I am a ‘common’ vegetable, 
am I?” he demanded. “I would have you 
know that out West I am called King 
Corn. Millions of people owe all they have to 
me. Who among you has a stem as stately as 
mine, or a more graceful tassel, or finer, softer 
silk?” 

This speech caused quite a flutter among 
95 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


the flowers, for they had to admit that what 
Corn said was true. 

“Yes, it is rather a handsome plant,” they 
said to each other, nodding their heads. “We 
might let him stay with us.” 

“No, I thank you,” retorted the Corn coldly. 
“I belong with the vegetables. They are my 
friends, and where they go, I go. We have 
decided that we will all leave, since we are not 
wanted here. We are far larger than you are, 
and we could choke you out if we chose; but 
we will be generous and start at once for the 
old lot behind the barn.” 

So off they went. 

Just then Cook was saying to Solomon: “I 
wish you would go out and pick me some fresh 
vegetables for dinner.” 

“All right,” said Solomon; “I’ll go this min- 
ute.” 

And thus it happened that, as he reached the 
garden path, he saw all the vegetables walk- 
ing hand-in-hand toward the lot behind the 
barn. There was the Watermelon-vine trun- 
dling along with the Squash, and the Carrots 
96 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 



with the Peas, and the Pumpkins with the 
Potatoes, and the Beets with the Cauliflower — 
and there was Corn at the head, leading them 
on. 


“Dear me!” said Solomon, scratching his 
head. “Who ever saw the likes of that? They 
do be for all the world acting like real crea- 
tures, a-showing me where they ought to 
have been planted. Perhaps after a while 
they’ll be a-laying of themselves into the cellar 
without any help of mine. It’s a great thing 
to have such sensible vegetables on the place. 
They do be saving a lot of trouble for me.” 

97 



















































THE PANSY WHO LEARNED TO BE 
CONTENT 


99 


Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower. 
This useful lesson may borrow: 

Patient to-day through its gloomiest hour 
We come out the brighter to-morrow. 

— Hannah Flagg Gould. 


100 


■ r - 





THE PANSY WHO 
LEARNED TO BE 
CONTENT 


They were filling the window-boxes for the 
springtime, and Solomon, the choreman, had 
been transplanting the pansies from their beds 
in the garden. 

As he was walking back with a great load 
of them, all just about to bloom, he dropped 
one on the garden walk. The children were 
running out for their morning play; the Little 
Boy found the pansy lying helpless there, 
ready to be crushed by the first foot that came 
along. 

“Oh, here’s a pansy!” he cried. “I shall be- 
gin my garden with this one.” And suiting the 
action to the word, he planted her right among 
the big bed of pumpkins, all fattening there 
for the winter’s pies. 


101 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


The unfortunate Pansy felt far more com- 
fortable when she found herself rooted again. 
She stretched, peeped about and made ready 
to enjoy life once more. 

“Well, this is good luck,” she thought. “I 
had all but given up hope.” 

She drew a long breath of satisfaction and 
began to take in her surroundings. She was 
quite close to the wall, which made her feel very 
grand ; but when she turned the other way she 
gave a cry of horror. There right beside her 
sprawled a great ugly Pumpkin-vine that tow- 
ered far above her, with its great, and coarse, 
rough leaves; they seemed likely to shut the 
Pansy out from the world completely. 

“I’m disgusted!” exclaimed Pansy, “to find 
myself in such company.” Then she drew in 
her skirts as some proud little girly might do 
when she is telling some other little girly that 
her father has more money than the other little 
girl’s father. She tried to lift her head above 
the Pumpkin, and, as she did so, she spied a 
tall, fair, pure white Daisy. 

“Good-morning,” said Daisy cheerily. “That 
102 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


was a narrow escape you had. I saw John 
drop you on the garden walk.” 

Pansy was sobbing now, but she returned 
the greeting through her tears as best she 
could. 

“I am glad to see you,” added Daisy. “I 
hope you’ll find it nice there. The soil is very 
good, and I am growing nicely.” 

“What if it is?” snapped Pansy pettishly, 
like a spoiled child. “Look what’s around me,” 
and she gazed disdainfully at the Pumpkin, 
who never said a word, but went right on grow- 
ing. Daisy pretended not to hear. She want- 
ed to make friends with Pansy, but she didn’t 
want to hurt Pumpkin’s feelings. 

“There’s so much sunshine here,” she went 
on. “Why, everything must be sunshiny; it 
just can’t help it. Our friend, Mr. Pumpkin, 
will soon have glorious yellow blossoms, and 
then the Pumpkins themselves will come from 
the flowers, great, big, round yellow globes, 
just like our good friend, the Sun, himself, and 
they will make such splendid big pies for 
Thanksgiving time. 

“And just look beyond you. See the Squash 
103 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


further on, and the Carrots over there; and 
just take a look at those fine, big, yellow plum- 
Tomatoes. See the Sunflowers by the fence — 
they’re not ashamed to be seen here. They 
love the Sun. No matter what time of day it 
is, they are always turned toward him. 

“We ought to be so glad that we have the 
Sun,” rattled Daisy. “He gave me a golden 
heart, and those bright yellow stripes that you 
have, came from him. Why, I shouldn’t be 
surprised if, after a while, you lost your black 
looks and turned quite golden yourself. It is 
easy to be sunny if one tries.” 

But the Pansy pouted like a naughty little 
girl. She wanted to be where the company 
were fine and beautiful; she thought all the 
vegetables so vulgar. And what use had a 
flower for a golden heart? Any flower could 
shut its petals so that no one might see what 
sort of a heart it had at all. And like some 
little children who ought to be very glad over 
what they have, but persist in crying for what 
they have not, though she had so much for 
which to be thankful, Pansy made up her mind 
to be quite unhappy. 

104 • 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


“Weed out this garden, Solomon,” said the 
master a week later. “We don’t want to have 
all these fine vegetables choked to death.” 

So Solomon went to work, and the very first 
thing he did was to root up big, proud Pansy 
and toss her over a pile of trash, to be made 
into a bonfire. But he passed the Daisy by. 

Daisy’s golden heart felt very sorry for 
poor, proud Pansy, weak and fainting out 
there in the hot sun. But what could she do? 
Presently the children came clattering down 
the walk to look at Solomon at his work. The 
little girl found the Pansy almost dying on the 
heap of weeds. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” she cried, picking 
Pansy up, “you don’t belong here. You should 
be in the front garden. I’ll put you there my- 
self.” 

Now, the bed where the little girl put Pansy 
was already too crowded. But Pansy didn’t 
mind. She was back among her own people 
again, and she rather enjoyed being crowded. 
But the master didn’t like to see it. 

“Solomon,” said he, one morning, “this bed 
105 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


is altogether too thick; you must thin it to- 
day/’ 

So Solomon went to work. 

The very first plant he pulled out was, again, 
our Pansy, and she would have died had not a 
kind-hearted child rescued her. Pansy was 
planted in a pot by herself and put in the win- 
dow of a room where a sick baby lay. There 
she repented, and when she saw the doctor 
smile one morning, and the baby open its big 
blue eyes, smile feebly and reach for her, she 
felt happy at last. It had come to her that 
she was doing some good in the world, and she 
was content. 

Meanwhile, Daisy was growing finely out 
in the back yard, with the vegetables and 
things. She was the only flower there. More 
than once she sighed and wished, too, that she 
might be with her own kin, the flowers, but it 
was more like longing than discontent that she 
felt. 

Then her friend, Mr. Pumpkin, ripe with 
experience and filled with the bottled-up rays 
of the Sun, spoke kindly to her. 

106 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


“Sweet Daisy,” he said pleasantly, “try to 
be cheerful. You have many friends here who 
love you. I know we are only common vege- 
tables and you are a flower; but we have a mis- 
sion to fill in life, and I should hate to have 
any one call me a pumpkin-head. But why 
can’t you be happy with us? 

“Remember what you said to that stupid, 
proud Pansy. I am glad that there are not 
many Pansies like her in the world. Don’t you 
remember all the fine things you said about be- 
ing golden-hearted and sunny? You are the 
only flower we have among us now. You have 
made us all so happy. You are our queen. 
Please stay and rule over us with love.” 

In a moment sweet Daisy was herself again. 
She knew that she loved all her friends, the 
Vegetables, and she knew that they would be 
unhappy if they realized how she had felt. She 
wept a little, just to think how selfish it had 
been for her even to think of leaving all her 
old friends. 

“Why, of course I’ll stay,” she cried. “I 
couldn’t bear to think of living anywhere else. 
I love you all, every one.” 

107 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


The Vegetables clapped their hands with 
joy, and the fatherly Pumpkin leaned over and 
kissed her. 

And there she stayed all summer long, 
happy in the friendship of the green things 
thriving there, even though they were nothing 
but plain, common vegetables. There is noth- 
ing like being contented with one’s lot and 
making the best of everything. 


108 



THE CASTLE IN THE AIR 


109 


To see the spider sit and spin, 

Shut with her webs of silver in, 

You would never, never, never guess 
The way she gets her dinner. 

— Alice Cary. 


110 



P< THE CASTLE IN 
THE AIR 


( The Spider's Story) 


The climbing White Rose and the tall Red 
Rose-bushes were talking one beautiful morn- 
ing. 

“How sweet the air is!” said the White Rose. 

“Yes,” answered the Red Rose; “and I have 
gathered a great deal of honey to give to the 
Bees.” 

The White Rose climbed to the top of a high 
wall and was looking over at the crimson bush. 

“I am so glad,” she said, “that the trellis is 
high, because I love to climb up and look at the 
clouds, so white and beautiful. I mean to 
climb higher next summer.” 

The Red Rose looked up with great admira- 
tion. 


Ill 



GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


“You are so beautiful and sweet!” she said. 
“I am getting your lovely breath, but oh! I 
wish I could climb about on the trellis. Still, 
I am taller than this stick I am fastened to, 
and I am sure I ought to be very happy.” 

“I wish you were nearer,” said the White 
Rose, and she tried to reach down to the crim- 
son flower. “Anyway, no harm can touch us 
here, for only see the thick pins on our stems. 
Nothing can climb up here to hurt us. But 
it is really a pity the creeping things down 
there on the ground can’t enjoy the air and out- 
look here. Wouldn’t it be nice for us to give 
them a picnic?” 

“No doubt they would enjoy it more than we 
should,” said the Red Rose; “but anyway, it 
would be impossible to get them all up here.” 

While they were talking, velvet-clad Spider 
crawled out from the heart of a great crimson 
Hollyhock. 

“What are you talking about?” he asked. 
“You have had your heads together so long 
that I am really curious. Tell me what it is.” 

“Why,” exclaimed the Red Rose, “we were 
thinking what a pity that those poor little 
112 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


things down in the earth cannot have a lot of 
this sweet air and light. We would be glad to 
have them up here with us to enjoy the sun- 
shine, but that is impossible.” 

“Why,” said the Spider, “I think I could 
help you to get them up here. I was just 
planning my castle, and I could easily build a 
bridge over which these little things could 
crawl.” 

“How perfectly lovely!” cried both Roses. 
“But can you really build a castle?” asked the 
Red Rose. 

“Oh, yes,” answered the Spider; “and I can 
do a great many other things by the help of 
a wonderful flower, that grows quite close to 
the earth.” 

“Tell us about that,” said the Roses. They 
nestled their heads close together while the 
Spider talked. “We have not heard anything 
for such a long time that we shall be glad to 
have some news.” 

“Well,” the Spider began, very much 
pleased with his two listeners, “not far from 
here is a bed of flowers. They are called Pan- 
sies, which mean thoughts. They are doing 
113 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


most wonderful things every day — they help so 
many people with just a thought — one of 
themselves, you know. One day I was spin- 
ning my web quite close to them, and they 
asked me to help them carry a thought to a 
sick child in a tall house. So I spun a long, 
long thread and swung ’way up to the window 
of the child’s room. Then I wove many threads 
until the ladder was quite strong. Over this 
the Pansies passed into the child’s presence and 
took her beautiful dreams of the flowers and 
the woods, until she longed to be well and go 
out and see everything herself. She tried very 
hard to get well, and soon she was able to go 
out as she had wished. After this I spun many 
webs to many windows, and now I wank to 
build a castle with plenty of room so that I 
can invite all my friends to visit me and intro- 
duce them to these dear, thoughtful little Pan- 
sies. I mean to have many apartments in my 
castle, and they shall be furnished with the 
colors the Pansies love and wear. Your room,” 
he continued to the White Pose, “must be pink, 
and yours,” to the Red Rose, “must be white 
and green.” 


114 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


The Roses were very much excited when 
they found they were going to have rooms in 
the castle, and they visited together a great 
deal, talking over the plans. They wanted to 
learn, too, how to do the wonderful things the 
Pansies were doing. One day the Spider got 
the end of his web securely fastened near the 
pansy bed, so that he was able to bring up a 
little bud of a Heartsease to visit the Roses. 
The White Rose feared that the sunshine at the 
top of her trellis might hurt the eyes of the 
Pansy, who was used to the dimmer light of the 
garden, so she pulled down the curtains of her 
green leaves, and made a bower where the 
Pansy could be sheltered while she talked to 
her. 

Pansy was very much interested in the whole 
thing, and when the Roses said they wished all 
the little creatures that lived in the garden 
could come up and enjoy the outlook, Pansy 
breathed a long breath. 

“Yes, that would be lovely,” she said; “but 
you know it wouldn’t do to invite them all. 
The Caterpillars and Worms might crawl up 
your stems and come over the Spider’s web, 
115 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


but when they got here they would destroy 
your beautiful leaves and eat your buds, and 
then you would have no honey to give to the 
Bees and no perfume to make people happy. 
No, it would not be well to ask the Caterpillars 
up here. You must think of another way to 
scatter happiness.” 

“That is a happy thought,” said the Spider, 
who had been listening. “I don’t approve of 
the Worms and Caterpillars coming up here, 
but I didn’t like to oppose the Roses. And, 
then, if they had got tangled up in my web, 
I should have been blamed. It would have 
been said that I enticed them to destruction.” 

“Yes, it certainly would,” said the Pansy, 
looking more thoughtful than ever. 

“Then we can’t have a picnic,” said the Red 
Rose in a disappointed voice, “and we can’t 
show any one what a lovely castle the Spider 
has built. What is the use of having a castle 
if no one sees it?” 

“Yes,” exclaimed the White Rose; “and I 
can’t enjoy the view and air if there is no one 
to enjoy it with me. I have set my heart on 
having all that company, and I think it is too 
116 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


bad to keep them from having the good time 
we planned just because we are afraid they will 
eat our leaves. I call that poor hospitality." 

Here Pansy began to blow her gentle 
breath and to smooth the ruffled feelings of the 
Roses. “You must think well of all sides of the 
question," she said. “Now, you really do want 
to make some one happy, don’t you?" 

“Of course, that’s what we want," cried the 
Roses. 

“Well, if you are not well, you can’t make 
any one happy, can you?" 

“But we are well — we are the healthiest 
Roses anywhere." 

“If the Caterpillars eat your leaves and sap 
you won’t be healthy long," said the Pansy. 

“Oh!" exclaimed the Roses, astonished. 

“The Caterpillars and the Worms wouldn’t 
like to be up here unless they could eat the 
leaves. They would much rather be down on 
the ground," went on the Pansy. “Why, look 
at me, even. I am a flower like yourselves, but 
my home is down near to the ground. If I 
should come and live ’way up here it would be 
117 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


bad for me. It is all very well to visit, but to 
live!” 

“Then nobody wants us !” cried the Red Rose 
dejectedly. “If nobody will come to see us, 
how can we make happiness ? We can’t move.” 

“Oh, yes, you can,” said the Pansy; “that 
is just what you can do. Now, here is your 
friend, the good Spider. He has those beau- 
tiful webs of his and a whole army of subjects 
to run about over them and take messages. 
And then you have the Bees, who carry honey 
for you; and the Wind, who carries your per- 
fume; and sometimes you can send a bud or 
flower to a sick-room or to some one who is sad 
or lonely. My! what a lot of ways we have for 
making people happy! Why don’t you under- 
stand your opportunity?” 

The Roses looked as thoughtful as Pansy 
for a little time. 

“I’ve heard,” said Pansy, “of castles in the 
air. I believe they are the things you dream 
about and never do. How can you dream 
about making happiness in an impossible way 
and waste all your time in dreaming, so that 
you never accomplish anything? The dreams 
118 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


may be far finer than anything you can do, and 
yet they won’t help anybody at all. But if 
you do the really possible things, somebody 
will be the better for them, even if they are 
not so fine as the dreams were. If you wait 
for the fine things before you do little things, 
you will never do anything.” 

“That’s so, that’s so,” cried the Spider. 
“Didn’t I tell you that the Pansy had wonder- 
ful thoughts? But see here, my castle isn’t 
all in the air. It’s airy, I admit. See how 
fine and delicate the girders and the supports 
are, but they rest on real things. There’s one 
end on the trellis yonder, and the post of the 
veranda over there holds another, and Laurel 
Bush farther on has a third. I even build on 
the Oak, and his foundation is thought to be 
the strongest of any tree. What more could 
I do to fasten down my beautiful castle in the 
air? You can’t tie to dreams, I admit, for you 
can never see them, but here is this castle right 
in sight. Now, Pansy, why should I give up 
my castle in the air?” 

“Oh, I never said to give it up, nor dreams 
either, but onlv impossible dreams. The Roses 
119 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


would kill themselves to do a kindness that 
the Worms and Caterpillars don’t need. If 
they will take the same trouble to send their 
perfume and beauty to the poor and the sad 
and the sick, they will help, not hurt any.” 

“Oh, we will, we will!” cried the Roses. 
“Pansy has given us the thought. We shall 
not forget it, and the Spider will help us to 
carry it out.” 

“Indeed I will,” the Spider declared. 

Then he began to weave the most wonderful 
webs in all directions. The White Rose could 
almost climb on them to far, far places where 
she sent her sweet breath. The Red Rose grew 
taller and taller and so rich in color that when 
one of her blossoms was placed under the cheek 
of a pale, sad face it lent a glow of color to 
them and made them look happy once more. 
People came from far and near to see the splen- 
did rose-vine and the great rose-tree ; and they 
were often surprised to find them both en- 
cased in a fine, strong network of Spider’s 
web. 

“Is the Spider eating up the Roses?” some 
one asked the gardener. 

120 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


“No, indeed,” said he; “this is an odd thing, 

I can tell you. I notice that this web is built 
over these roses whenever we have a plague of 
caterpillars or rose-bugs threatened. Nothing 
ever touches these roses. The web is so fine 
that it keeps out everything that would hurt 
the plants. See, up there at the top of the 
trellis, what an odd form the web takes as it 
passes from the white rose-vine to the red rose- 
bush. Doesn’t it look like a castle in the air?” 

And the visitors stared in amazement, for 
it did look as if a fine drawing of a beautiful 
castle were made in the air there above the 
roses, only the lines that held it firmly in 
place were attached to the things that are real 
and enduring. 

And the Roses! How they throve! What 
quantities of buds and blossoms they sent forth 
to cheer and gladden with their sweetness! 
What perfume they distributed through the 
garden! What bright looks they cast far and 
wide, and what joy they made by doing simply 
what they could! 

The Spider, too, with his industry and faith- 
fulness — how he guarded from harm the beau- 
121 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


tiful plants, and what a blessing he made of 
himself and the beautiful castle in the air, 
which thus became great and real ! So the gar- 
den flourishes and abounds in beauty. Go and 
see it, for you will find it wherever there is a 
loving thought and an effort to make the 
thought into a real act. 


122 



THE BABY PANSY’S VISION 


123 


The late pink foxglove bowed his head; 

The violets curtsied, and went to bed, 

And good little Lucy tied up her hair 
And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer. 

— Richard Monckton Milnes. 


124 





THE BABY PANSY’S 
VISION 


While all the big Pansies were busy carry- 
ing sweet thoughts to sick children, a little 
white blossom, which was so small that nobody 
had noticed it, began to wish that she could 
help, too. But, tiny as she was, it seemed im- 
possible for her to do anything. She had lifted 
her sweet white face but an inch or two from the 
earth, and everything seemed so much bigger 
than herself that she was afraid of nearly all 
that she saw. 

Close beside little white Pansy, grew a big 
purple one, and she, seeing the child’s fright, 
began to talk gently to her. 

“You darling little thing!” said the big 
beauty. “How sweet you look down there! 
Why, you are the baby of the whole garden. 
125 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


I don’t believe that any other plant so small as 
you has tried to blossom.” 

“But I can’t do anything else,” said the little 
white Pansy. “I wish I could help, as the 
others do.” 

Then the purple Pansy explained about 
visiting sick children and carrying kind mes- 
sages, and she said: “One day you may be big 
enough to go too.” 

Little Pansy was silent for some time after 
that. She was thinking how she might help. 
What story could she tell to the children when 
she grew big enough to go about with a mes- 
sage? 

At last, when evening came, purple Pansy, 
seeing her so quiet, looked down and said: 
“What are you thinking of, little one?” 

Now, although she was so tiny, little white 
Pansy was so full of many sweet thoughts, as 
all Pansies are; and she looked up now into 
purple Pansy’s face and said: “I have had a 
beautiful vision in my mind.” 

Then all of the Pansies cried: “You dear 
little one! Tell us what your vision is.” 

126 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


Down the garden path came a little girl, 
singing. The flowers stopped talking to lis- 
ten to her. This is what she sang; it is an old, 
old song, but always charming : 

“Chisel in hand stood a sculptor boy, 

With his marble block before him; 

And his face lit up with a smile of joy, 

As an angel dream passed o’er him. 

“He carved that dream on the yielding stone, 
With many a sharp incision. 

In heaven’s own light the sculptor shone — 
He had caught that angel vision. 

“Sculptors of life are we as we stand, 

With our lives uncarved before us — 
Waiting the hour when at God’s command 
Our life-dream passes o’er us. 

“Let us carve it then on the shapeless stone. 
With many a sharp incision; 

The labor and sorrow will be our own — 

Our lives, that angel vision.” 

127 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


The little girl moved on to the arbor, where 
she sat down and began to blow bubbles, and 
the purple Pansy whispered to the little one 
beside her: “You can do what the poets say. 
You can put a dream of life, beautiful deeds, 
true deeds, before little children. You can 
make them see that sickness may be overcome, 
and show them how lovely obedience and kind- 
ness are.” 

“I will try,” whispered little white Pansy. 

As she thought over the beautiful poem, and 
of what purple Pansy had said, she watched 
the bubbles which the lovely child was toss- 
ing lightly into the air. Some of them fell 
among the flowers, where they shone and glis- 
tened like some new kind of fairy blossoms. 
Others floated away and away, gleaming with 
a thousand colors in the sweet sunlight. 

The little girl blew them off very fast, 
laughing and singing from time to time, when- 
ever she had filled the air with them. They 
were so bright and beautiful that they seemed 
to transform the whole garden, as though hun- 
dreds of little rainbow lamps had been lighted 
there. 


128 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


The little white Pansy looked up at the Sun. 

She knew that it was he with his wonderful 

beams who had made such colors to glow in the 

bubbles. And this is what she said : 

“O Sun, give some of your rays to me, 

And let me send them on 
To the little children of misery, 

Till their darkness is all gone. 

“And take the gleam of the crimson fire, 

And the blue on the rim of the bubble, 
To satisfy the heart’s desire 
Of some little child in trouble. 

“Let the beautiful bubbles fly away, 

While their colors flit and change, 

Till the pale face glows in the dancing ray, 
And joy no more is strange. 

“And, Bubbles, bear me away with you, 

On your wings of shimmering light, 

That I may share in the good you do, 

In your wild and beautiful flight.” 


129 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


And the loving angel-thought of the flower 
Sowed its heavenly seeds afar, 

As each glittering bubble rose from that 
bower 

To light the world like a star. 


130 



THE DREAM OF BABY HEARTS- 
EASE 


131 


Oh, I wish I were a Robin, 

A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go, 
Through forest, field or garden 
And ask no leave nor pardon. 

- — William Allin gham. 


132 



Little white Heartsease was the baby of all 
the garden — she was so tiny and sweet. And 
do you know, no one could go into that gar- 
den without feeling happier, because little 
Heartsease was sending out sweet thoughts all 
the time. You remember that Pansies stand 
for thoughts? 

Nobody ever saw her because she was so 
little, and of course nobody ever heard her; 
but she really made the air sweeter and better 
by being there. But for all this, little Hearts- 
ease was not quite happy. 

“I am so very, very little,” she sobbed to her- 
self, “that I am sure I can be of no use in this 
big, big world.” 

Little Heartsease did not know that even 
133 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


the tiniest flower, the littlest child, can do 
good. 

One night little Heartsease could not sleep. 
All the other flowers were curled up in sweet 
slumber, and Baby Heartsease would not rustle 
or move for fear of waking them. 

Presently she heard something come hop, 
hop down the garden walk. She knew who it 
was — her old friend, Bufo, the Toad. 

Now, Bufo and Heartsease were the best of 
friends. He loved her beauty and she loved his 
goodness. Instead of calling him “Toady,” 
disdainfully, as did some of the flowers, she 
gave him his right name as it is in the books — 
Bufo Lentiginosus — oh, what a hard word! 
But as she couldn’t say the last part of it, she 
called him “Bufo.” This pleased the Toad im- 
mensely. 

“Do you know, Baby Heartsease,” he said to 
her more than once, “it makes all the Toads 
feel terribly because people think we must be 
wicked because we are ugly. No truer heart 
ever beat than in the breast of a poor Toad. 
W e harm no one ; we never touch a living green 
thing; we are not poisonous; we do not bite. 

134 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


Give us a few mosquitoes in the summer time 
and we are content. We want to be friends 
with everybody. Yet we are stoned and 
trampled upon by every one. If we escape the 
snakes, the small boys stone us.” 

But he always got comfort from Baby 
Heartsease. And there he came down the 
garden walk, blinking and eyeing the flowers 
and then the moon. Heartsease wafted a 
sweet thought his way and he came hop-hop- 
ping over. 

“Did you want me, Baby Heartsease?” he 
asked. “I thought you were fast asleep.” 

“Oh, yes, I do want you,” answered Hearts- 
ease. “I can’t sleep. I want to get out of bed 
and go somewhere, but I can’t go unless some 
one takes me. Won’t you take me, Bufo, 
dear?” 

“Gladly,” cried the Toad, and, hopping over, 
he gently lifted her out of her earthy bed and 
off they went into the dim woods, where 
the cousins of Heartsease, the Violets, dwelt. 

“You are so good to me, Bufo,” said Hearts- 
ease gratefully. “I do love you.” 

“Why, nonsense! it makes me happy to give 
135 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


you a ride,” answered the Toad, puffing out his 
cheeks and rolling his eyes prodigiously. “We 
were all put into this world to do good.” 

After a time they arrived in the heart of 
the woods, where everything was very still. 
The Moon poured out her silvery rays and 
made the little dell wdiere they were almost as 
bright as day. 

“Oh, if I could only stay here forever!” 
sighed the Baby Heartsease. “Oh, if I could 
only move about myself and not be carried!” 

“So you shall,” said a sweet voice through 
the leaves. “You have been so good and sweet 
and unselfish that you may have your wish.” 

“If I could only fly!” cried little Heartsease, 
trembling with happiness. 

“So you may,” echoed the voice. 

Then the form of a beautiful child with shin- 
ing wrings came into the light, and a gentle, 
soft hand tenderly touched little Heartsease’s 
velvet cheek. 

Suddenly she felt very strange. There was 
nothing to hold her down to earth. She 
seemed so light, so free! — and she rose in the 
air as a bird does. It seemed as if she had al- 
136 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


ways been doing it. And as she looked down, 
she could see her leaves and stems left behind. 
Then, from mere joyousness, she seized the 
little cup of seeds she had always carried in 
her bosom and scattered them far and wide 
over the earth. 

But poor Bufo, sitting on the ground below, 
was heartbroken. 

“Are you going to fly away and leave me?” 
he cried, blinking through his tears. “You 
won’t want me to carry you any more?” 

“I am not going to leave you, dear Bufo,” 
said little Heartsease, flying down above his 
head. “You must take back my plant, for 
there are other buds to blossom.” 

“You may take your brothers and sis- 
ters, these stars,” said the Angel-child, floating 
up again. 

And she gave Baby Heartsease a handful of 
tiny stars, so white and so shining that it made 
Bufo blink and blink. 

“Drop a star on each Pansy’s head,” said the 
Angel-child, “and when the Sun comes again 
in the morning, he will take care of them for 
the day. And by and by your sisters and 
137 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


brothers will have beautiful wings, just the 
colors of their robes.” 

“When will they have wings?” asked the 
Pansy. 

“Just as soon as they are ready to give away 
the seeds they have been treasuring all summer 
long,” said the Angel-child. “Some will be 
ready to-day and some to-morrow.” 

And with a gentle “Good-night,” the Angel- 
child was off. 

Bufo now started back to the garden with all 
Baby Heartsease’s buds and leaves, she float- 
ing over his head all the way. It was almost 
morning when the baby flower and the Toad 
reached the pansy beds. The flowers were still 
all fast asleep. There they lay, each with its 
beautiful face upturned for the Sun to come 
and bid it awake. And Baby Heartsease tip- 
toed around, dropping a star on each face. 
Then she sank down and waited for the dawn. 

The Angel-child came, too, floating down 
between Bufo and Baby Heartsease. She 
gave each little closed-up flower a loving kiss. 

And so they waited. 

Slowly the first fingers of the dawn shot up 
138 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


in the eastern sky. The flowers stirred. A 
big purple Pansy opened her eyes the first of 
all. 

“I feel so strange,” she said. “I feel as if 
I could float right up in the air. What is it, 
Baby Heartsease ?” 

Baby Heartsease floated over to her big 
sister and put her little arm about her. 

“So you can, dear,” she said. “See, you have 
wings just as I have. We all have wings. We 
can fly away anywhere we please.” 

Immediately there was a great stir among 
the flowers. They all woke up at once. And 
such beautiful wings! There was every color 
in the rainbow. Every one of the Pansies was 
wild with joy — they had never known such 
happiness. 

Unselfish Bufo, who had no wings, rejoiced 
with them. 

“Come, everybody,” he cried, hopping as fast 
as he could down the garden walk. “Come, 
little Caterpillar, down out of the Sunflower, 
and see the Pansies’ new wings!” 

He called the Spiders, the Goldfish from the 
fountain, and all his dear friends in the garden 
139 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


— the Birds and the Bees and the Butterflies 
and the pretty green Lizards that liked to lie 
under the pansy leaves. Then the Angel-child 
appeared again. 

“Oh, there she is!” cried Heartsease. “Come, 
brothers and sisters, let us fly to her. She is the 
one who gave us our new fairy wings.” 

They all flew to her; they lighted upon her 
face, upon her golden hair; they clung to her 
robe and fell upon her hands and feet, until at 
last she was covered with their sweetness and 
beauty. 

Just then down the garden walk came little 
Jessie, to say her good-morning to the flowers. 
She looked on in wonder. The Angel-child 
and the winged Pansies faded away in the 
bright sunshine as she stood watching them. 

And then came Bufo, hop-hopping up to 
her feet. He wasn’t afraid, because he knew 
that little Jessie wouldn’t harm a single living 
thing. And there he sat, blinking and blink- 
ing, and if Jessie had understood toad- 
language she would have heard him say: 

“Shall we never see them any more?” 

“Yes,” said Jessie, just as if she had heard 
140 



“And then came Bufo, the toad, hop-hopping up to her 
feet : He wasn't afraid. And there he sat bunking and 


BLINKING. 























































































































































. 



































































GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


him; “they will come back and blossom again 
next year.” 

And Bufo hopped away, contented, for he 
knew it was almost time for him to burrow into 
the earth and go to sleep for the winter himself. 

Later, Careless Solomon, the gardener, came 
down the path and took up the faded pansy 
plants to make room for the pinks and the 
geraniums and the asters and the salvias, which, 
as autumn came, would find their wings, too, 
and fly away in the clear, sweet air, to come 
again another year. 












THE LILY OF FAITH 





143 


Little white Lily 
Said, “It is good — * 

Little white Lily’s 
Clothing and food.” 

Little white Lily, 

Dressed like a bride, 

Shining with whiteness 
And crowned beside. 

— George MacDonald . 


144 



It was a beautiful place in which this flower 
grew, for it was in heaven itself, in a garden 
of the angels. There was no more delightful 
garden in all the wide spaces of that celestial 
kingdom, for it was tended by one of the love- 
liest among the white-robed throng. Her name 
was Alma, and she was hut a tiny child, yet no 
one there was more beloved than she. 

Day after day thousands of little ones like 
Alma were sent for to go down upon the great 
earth and live as little children, and every day 
the gate-keeper asked, “Shall we send Alma?” 

“No, no!” cried the angels, because they 
could not bear to part with her. 

And yet Alma was only a little child, even 
as you are. 


145 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


But little children have their places in the 
world, and in heaven, just as men and women 
have. 

Little Alma loved her flowers, for she knew 
they afforded pleasure for all who saw them. 
And she worked and worked, and gave up 
things that might have made her happy, just 
to devote all of her time to the garden. 

Every day she watered the flowers and coaxed 
the soil until the flowers grew tall and beau- 
tiful. It was her work of love, and they filled 
the air with their fragrance and beauty, as if 
expressing their gratitude to her. They shed 
the very perfume of her own sweet thoughts; 
and seemed to know that they were growing 
for all lovers of flowers. 

One plant of the many thousand others was 
Alma’s favorite. She loved to pick the flow- 
ers from it, and give them to the angels. One 
day as she was leaving the garden with her 
arms full of snow-white blossoms, all sweet and 
lovely, she dropped one, a precious, fairy lily, 
which fell like a drop of dew down, down 
through the starry sky and the great, white 
clouds, until it reached the earth. 

146 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


It was Christmas Eve. Snow lay every- 
where and the Lily that had bloomed in the skies 
found its resting place dark and cold. 

It had dropped in a city street. Crowds of 
people were hurrying home. Snow was still 
falling, and night was settling upon the world. 
But the Lily was still as beautiful as when little 
Alma plucked it in the garden. 

Just then there came running along a tiny 
child — a sweet, beautiful little girl, but all in 
rags. Under her arms were some newspapers 
that she had not been able to sell. People are 
too busy on Christmas Eve to read of other 
people’s troubles. 

The child was crying with cold. Her torn 
shoes could not keep out the wet; her papers 
were limp and full of snow. Suddenly she 
looked down and saw the Lily before her. 

“Oh,” she cried, “what a lovely, lovely 
flower! Who has dropped it here?” Its fra- 
grance seemed to fill her soul. 

“You sweet, sweet flower!” she whispered. 
“I’ll take you home to poor little brother 
Johnny.” 

Through the streets she ran. Then up the 

147 


GOOD NIGHT STORIES 


stairs of a clingy tenement house she sped to a 
room where a woman sat sewing beside a smoky 
lamp ; and on the floor lay a tiny boy, his head 
pillowed on a bundle of rags. Near him were 
two tiny crutches. It was Johnny; he was a 
little cripple. 

“Oh, Beth, haven’t you sold your papers?” 
gasped the woman; “and haven’t you brought 
the bread?” 

Poor little Beth looked at her mother appeal- 
ingly. Then she glanced at the table — it was 
bare. 

“Oh, mother,” she sobbed, “I couldn’t buy 
the bread, but here is a lovely flower; I’ve 
brought it for Johnny. Isn’t it sweet?” 

The woman took the flower and put it into 
the little boy’s hand. He smiled feebly. 

“Anyway, mother,” he whispered, “we have 
supper for our eyes.” Then the mother smiled 
too. 

The boy looked at the Lily long and wist- 
fully. Then a strange thing happened. He 
stood right up and walked. His crutches fell 
away, and he was a cripple no longer. 

148 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


“Oh, mother! mother!” cried little Beth; 
“what is the matter?” 

The mother was speechless in the presence of 
this miracle. Finally, she said: “Oh, can’t 
you see? I have prayed all day, and my 
prayers are answered. Ask and ye shall re- 
ceive. It is a Lily of Faith. I have asked, be- 
lieving; and I have received heaven’s reward.” 

There are such flowers waiting for us all. 
They will fall at our feet just where we are, in 
sunshine or storm. They are the flowers from 
heaven. 

And so all three knelt by the bedside and 
thanked their Heavenly Father for sending lit- 
tle Johnny his strength again. And as they 
prayed another strange thing happened. A 
shower of heavenly light filled the place, and in 
an instant the smoky lamp, the broken chair, 
the rags, the rickety table — all vanished. 

Upon a slab of pearl were flowers in a crys- 
tal vase and on a table were standing dishes of 
every good thing to eat. 

“Is this what the Lily has brought us?” whis- 
pered little Beth. 

“Yes, my child,” said her mother. “From 
149 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


the Lily of Faith cometh all good things. They 
are the answer to my prayer. There are no 
beings in all the world so poor, so lonesome, so 
hungry, that there is not a flower ready to fall 
at their feet, if there is faith. And this flower 
is the Lily of Faith. I shall keep it always.” 

“Oh, don’t keep it here,” begged little John- 
ny. “Let’s take it to some one else. There’s 
Joe; he’s as much a cripple as I was.” 

So they took the Lily that very night to Joe, 
the cobbler’s son, who had to sit always in the 
same place and could never go out unless his 
father carried him in his arms. 

“Here’s Johnny!” cried Joe; “and he isn’t 
lame any more.” 

“No, Joe,” said Johnny, “we have found the 
Lily, and I have brought it to you. It’s the 
Lily of Faith; it has made me well, and we 
are all happy. I want you to take it and get 
well, too.” 

Then pallid, wan-faced little Joe took the 
Lily and looked at it with a boy’s faith in his 
eyes, and he felt a heavenly thrill in his shriv- 
eled limbs. 

“It will make me well; I know it will,” he 
150 


RD- 43 1 


GOOD-NIGHT STORIES 


cried, and as he wondered he slowly rose from 
his chair and reached out for his little crutches. 
But they, too, had fallen away, and Joe walked 
across the room. 

And little Joe and little Johnny took that 
beautiful Lily of Faith to many people that 
night, and wherever they went there was heal- 
ing and great rejoicing. 

And up in the bright realms where little 
Alma dwelt there was joy indeed. She was 
happiest of all. 

“I see, now,” she said to her angel friends, 
“that perhaps there are other flowers which I 
might send to earth to help the unhappy ones.” 

And so Alma’s garden has become the gar- 
den of Faith, Hope and Sweet Charity, and 
often its blossoms drop softly as the snow into 
the homes of sorrow and poverty upon this big, 
sad earth of ours. 

This story is but a parable, dear children; 
and yet beneath the parable lies a great and 
beautiful truth. 


151 















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